


black ice

by hopsalong



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 30 Days of Night basically, F/F, Horror AU, I DON'T EVEN GO HERE, This gets pretty dark, author is nervous as all get out, laughably limited knowledge of small Alaskan towns?, mild to moderate gore?, same story new title bc I can't make up my mind, why did i do this to myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopsalong/pseuds/hopsalong
Summary: In the small town of Utqiagvik, Alaska, the sun is about to set for a month. Between the recent string of vandalism and warnings of a winter storm Jaina should be happy she's leaving to visit home, but she’ll miss Sylvanas and the lab.Sylvanas has mixed feelings, because as much as she’d prefer her girlfriend to stay, being a member of the town's small police force has been stressful as hell recently and she’d rather not take it out on anyone else.They’re both about to have much bigger problems.





	1. sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two women try to leave, and something that isn’t a woman at all arrives.  
> Or: no one has a good day, some worse than others. Most of this could have been avoided by not leaving the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: any process in this story, weather-related, technological, or otherwise, is almost certainly wrong. But I’m basing this on movie rules, so take everything with an entire salt-shaker. Also, catch me out here with improper use of page-breaks.

_November 19 th_

_Utqiagvik, Alaska, 6:55am_

The shrill beep of the alarm barely lasts a second before her girlfriend’s palm comes crashing down to cut it off, but the damage is done – Jaina won’t be getting back to sleep after that. Nor does she have time to. In a few short hours she’ll be on a plane, the last possible flight out of town before the long, dark month begins.

Not that it isn’t dark now. These days, the sun never rises before 10.

She sits up reluctantly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It might not have been smart to put off her departure until the absolute last minute, but she has a good reason. A good reason that rolls over, dragging Jaina’s share of the sheets with her.

“Mmmm stay,” Sylvanas drawls. “Stay, complete the research on your own because you’re smarter than all of them, and then come back to bed.”

“You’re a little out of order there, love. And even if I could, you still have work today.”

She strokes a finger along the curve of one long ear, smiling when it flicks away.

“I’ll take the day off. What’s Liadrin going to do, arrest me?”

“She might not, but Chief Shadowsong will. _Lieutenant_.”

Sylvanas scoffs but sits up, conceding the point. Wise, in Jaina’s opinion, since her girlfriend’s incarceration at the hands of the police chief is not how she wants to spend her last morning here for a month.

“You shower, I’ll make breakfast?”

Jaina takes a moment to respond, eyes tracing the silhouette of the woman next to her. She takes in the sight of the sheet pooled around her waist, pale hair flat on one side and mussed on the other, with a warm rush of affection. Work has been hard on Sylvanas lately, evident in the circles under her eyes and the way her easy smiles are rare these days, but she never stops making an effort. It’s incredibly endearing.

“Sounds perfect.”

Her walk to the shower is mostly automatic, muscle memory taking over while her waking mind catches up. Lathering her hair with borrowed mint shampoo, Jaina allows herself to slowly rouse.

Her bags have been packed since the night before, so now there’s only breakfast and a short car ride before she’ll be on the first of several flights to get her home. Or to her family, at least, because _home_ is beginning to feel like maybe it should be here.

It’s only been a year since Jaina accepted Professor Antonidas’ proposal to study artifacts at the top of the world. She’d been headhunted, fresh out of grad school with only her thesis on magical theory to her name. Her professors had called her work _idealistic_ , _more emotional than fact-based_ , and one scathing _not connected to reality_ , and she had been at the end of her rope trying to decide her next move when it seemed the only avenues she wanted were closed to her. And then she got a letter.

It had been short and to the point, but she’d stared at it for whole minutes, wide eyes sticking on _paid position_ and _research grant_ and, miraculously, _study of possible magical conduits_. That the position was at a site in Alaska was furthest from her mind, and it hadn’t even taken her a day to decide. It had been the best decision of her life.  

A year ago she had worries, closed-off peers, and ideas that no one would listen to. Now she has friends, the excitement of working in a lab where people are as passionate as she is, and a _girlfriend_  who does things like wake up early to drive her to the airport.

Exiting the shower, she wrings out her hair and begins the familiar process of braiding it. The smells of eggs and bacon waft through the open door, motivating her to move just a little more nimbly.

Sylvanas is so _good_. Proud and irreverent and quick to scowl at people that aren’t named Jaina Proudmoore, but good. Jaina doesn’t _want_ to leave, but with two of the other research assistants heading out there isn’t much she and Antonidas can do on their own for a month, not unless they truly want to live in the lab. And she’s looking forward to seeing her family again. Especially her mother, who never really understood what possessed Jaina to move her entire life to Alaska. But...she’s going to miss this. The easy comfort of showering and breakfast and soft thoughts murmured after the lights go out.

“Jaina?” Sylvanas calls, lilting. “Fifteen minute mark, come on now.”

Half a year ago, she would have mistaken the tease for goading. Now, she laughs to herself and braids faster.

-

They make quiet conversation on the drive to the airport, Sylvanas happy to let her ramble on about work at the lab. Jaina loves that she  _listens_ , unlike so many who tune out – or worse, laugh – the second she mentions _relics from another age_.

Just because leading scholars _say_ magic is dead doesn’t mean it is, after all. They would know that if they were out here doing the research, instead of stuck in their offices content to sit on centuries-old knowledge no one even tries to challenge anymore–

Sylvanas chuckles, low and teasing, letting her know she’d said that last bit out loud. Again. Luckily she never seems to mind Jaina’s rants. If anything she tends to encourage it, and this is apparently one of those times because her response is a good-humored:

“Then it’s a good thing your Antonidas is leagues better than those skeletons. Good for _him_ , too, or I’d write him a ticket.”

“A ticket for being stuck in the past?”

“A ticket for failing to appreciate my girlfriend.”

“Sylvanas!” Jaina swats her arm, but she’s laughing.

The world around them is dark as Sylvanas drives them over the bridge, eyes trained carefully on the snow-covered road. It’s slow going, despite a valiant effort by the plows. The radio’s been predicting a serious storm for days now, leaving Jaina glad she won’t be here to see it.

Despite the uneven ride, they arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare. The road near the entrance is oddly unplowed, so Sylvanas pulls up halfway across the empty lot with a scowl.

“Irresponsible,” she growls under her breath.

Jaina pats her shoulder. “It’s fine, I don’t mind the walk.”

The elf makes a show of checking Jaina’s scarf and the buttons of her heavy coat before aquiescing with a drawn out sigh.

“Shall I escort you, at least?”

“Let’s not risk making you late.”

She does reward the thought with a quick brush of lips, charmed that Sylvanas would offer.

When they’re both standing outside the car, Jaina doesn’t want to be the first to say goodbye. This is likely also true for Sylvanas, whose effort to seem as cavalier as ever is offset by the slight droop of her ears.

“I–”

“I’ll–”

Jaina flushes; the tips of Sylvanas’ ears stain pink. In the end, the elf composes herself first.

“You’ll hold on to your key?”

“Of course, how else am I going to let myself in if I get back and you’re not home?”

“As if I wouldn’t pick you up from the airport.” Sylvanas tosses her head, but her shoulders relax.

It’s incredibly cute, so Jaina leans in to kiss her again before she drives away.

|||||

 _Iḷisaġvik College, Temp Lab_ _, 9:07am_

Staring at the tangle of wiring and metal that until this morning had been a functioning generator, Antonidas allows himself a slow blink while watching what oil remains burble into the starkly white snow.

For a typical problem at the lab, broken glass or somesuch, it was usually a simple enough thing to call someone from town or just order a replacement. His gaggle of assistants has managed not to break any expensive machinery yet, and thus far their greatest hurdle has been dealing with power outages during timed experiments. Naturally, the acquisition of a generator helped a great deal. A generator that now looks as though someone smashed it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

This isn’t an accident one of his people is afraid of confessing to, which is a shame. That, he could handle. No, this is the very deliberate destruction of his lab’s back-up power source.

Happily, no one had been running anything overnight. _Un_ happily, this is because all three of his assistants left for the duration of the dark month. He'd intended to run some tests on his own despite that, unable to entertain the idea of sitting idle for so long, but this sets that plan back by a day at least.

Involving the police doesn’t sit well with him, not when he prefers his lab quiet and organized, but if he should procure another generator only for a repeat incident...?

With a put-upon sigh, Antonidas goes inside to look up the number for the police department.

|||||

_WPWR Memorial Airport, 9:14am_

It’s cold and dark outside the small airport, enough for Jaina to stick her gloved hands under the arms of her enormous jacket even for the short walk to the entrance. Staying in Utqiagvik until the daylight hours shrunk so far wasn’t exactly logical, but she wouldn’t have traded more time with Sylvanas for the world.

She’d also never have turned down Sylvanas’ offer to drive her over. Mostly because she _had_ offered, on a work day, when she could have slept another hour and not had to rush. Could have let Jaina find her own way, and not been inconvenienced. But she had _wanted_ to be, and even insisted it was no inconvenience at all. As if Jaina was worth it.

Her work with Antonidas would continue for another year at least, and she has every intention of renewing – something he's made clear he hopes for. And if they manage to somehow complete their research on the artifacts before then? More and more, she's thought of how it would be to wake up next to Sylvanas every day. To listen to her complain about the police chief, and old Greymane; to see her sleepy smile in the mornings, the soft one just for her; to answer her questions about Jaina’s work that would seem idle without the sideways tilt of her ears that betray her interest.

They haven’t talked about it, but she thinks Sylvanas might ask her to move in when she returns. She _hopes_ , because she has every intention of saying yes. And not just because her girlfriend’s house is much, much nicer than the living arrangements at the lab. Jaina is very ready to be done with student housing, even if it comes with her position. She stays with Sylvanas half the time anyway.

The thought warms her, even as little eddies of snow blow past her flushed cheeks. Thankfully, her trip through the unplowed lot is over. Sweeping through the oddly dark entrance, she prays the heat further inside is cranked up because oh it's so...very...col...d?

The lobby is empty. No crew, no one at the desk, no other passengers. Most people left earlier, true, but for the airport to look abandoned?

"Excuse me?"

Her voice carries eerily in the dim room. She lets go of her suitcase and looks around, hoping to find someone who can explain.

"Hello?" she tries, thrown off by the silence. It's as if everyone just...vanished.

She's more relieved than she wants to admit when she hears heavy footsteps heading her way, but the feeling quickly turns to confusion as the man starts to speak.

“Sorry, miss. If yer here for the 11 o’clock, flight’s cancelled. All of ‘em were. Storm’s comin’, just lockin’ up.”

“ _Cancelled_?” she echoes, staring skeptically at the orc ambling towards her.

He sports a large jacket over several other layers, but his nametag identifies him as a pilot. It feels like a joke, though with the lights mostly off and no one else in sight it seems to be very painfully real.

“Aye, nothin’ to be done.”

She glances around the lobby, confirming again the lack of passengers or personnel. Still, though...

“But I... No one called...” She flounders, looking up at the imposing figure. “If I can’t leave today then...the month...”

“Phones’re down, apologies.”

She nearly bristles at his implacable drawl, but the orc isn’t being malicious. Just stating a fact, which is, apparently, that she is in need of a place to stay for a month. Should she stay at the school? _Can_ she, after notifying the administration she’d be away? Can she afford a hotel for that long, or...

Taking pity on her obvious reeling, he offers her a smile.

“Drive here yerself?”

She shakes her head, mute.

“Can wait here if you want, ‘til someone comes. Bad weather. Real bad weather.”

He jerks his strong jaw towards the row of benches by the entrance. Jaina nods back, dazed, and moves to sit down. Before she can though, there’s a commotion outside followed by the door slamming open, bringing with it a wave of fresh snow.

She turns to see Valeera Sanguinar, weighed down by suitcases and dressed as if it’s nothing more than a cool fall day.

“Flights're cancelled, miss,” the orc greets her.

She rushes past him with no indication of hearing, heading for the abandoned row of counters.

“Miss! Airport’s closed, no flights.”

Valeera grinds to a halt, shoulders bunching up to her ears.

“What. Do you mean. I’m on time, I’m _early_ , so what the _fuck_ do you mean?”

Jaina doesn’t know Valeera all that well, she’ll admit. Her girlfriend’s _co-worker’s_ girlfriend isn’t a position that’s lent itself to much familiarity, but this feels caustic even for her. The orc remains unmoved, however, only pointing a large hand at the whirling white outside the windows.

“Started lockin’ up near an hour ago. Bad storm comin’.”

“Nonono, I have to leave, you have to take me–”

She stalks over to grab at the orc’s jacket, fingers bunching in the fabric. When his previously calm eyes narrow, Jaina dares to lay a hand on Valeera’s arm.

“Hey now, I’m in the same boat. I know it’s surprising but it’s not all that bad, is it?”

“Fuck, Proudmoore, I _sank_ my damn boat.” Despite the bite to her words, she lets go of the jacket with a snarl and the orc relaxes. “You have a place to stay. Liadrin probably hopes I’ll freeze to death.”

Even stranger. From what Jaina’s observed, Liadrin practically dotes on her.

“Why would she...?”

She takes in the luggage sitting in the snow blown in behind the scowling elf. A lot. Too much for just a month; this must be every bit of what she first blew into town with half a year ago.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“Do you have a ride?”

“My _ride_ left me a quarter mile down the road, couldn't be assed to drive anymore. Don't worry though, I deserved it.”

Not for the first time, Jaina's grateful Sylvanas and Valeera don't really run in the same circles. A friend who'd leave someone in the snow isn't really a friend at all. She frowns, concerned.

“I – when I call Sylvanas I can ask her to drive you somewhere, if you want.”

Sylvanas doesn't do many favors, but she tolerates Valeera well enough that Jaina doesn't hesitate to make the offer.

“It’s fine, I’ll call someone on the way.”

Jaina balks, incredulous. “You’ll freeze!”

“I run hot,” Valeera bites out, already moving.

Before she knows it Jaina’s grabbing a tense shoulder, polite distance temporarily overridden by the thought of Valeera walking anywhere in a _leather jacket_ , simple shirt, and jeans. The elf whirls, baring her fangs, spurring Jaina to step back at the very real promise of violence in her eyes.

Valeera smirks, a _thought so_ in the curve of her lips, and then she leaves. She pauses only to grab one suitcase  – and kick another viciously, leaving the rest of her possessions in the snow melting around them.

Feeling very adrift, Jaina shares a baffled look with the orc before pulling out her phone and dialing from memory. She holds it to her ear and hears...nothing?

She dials again, with the same result. Staring at her phone reveals a lack of signal bars, prompting a weary glance towards the sky outside. Damned weather.

“Headin’ to town soon, want a ride?”

Still a little in shock at the sudden turn of events, she manages a grateful nod. He deserves more than that, honestly, so she tries a little harder and comes up with a shaky smile.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

|||||

_Westernmost Cell Tower, 10:23am_

Sylvanas had meant it when she’d agreed to meet Vereesa in an hour, but that was before... _this_. Before she’d been sent to investigate yet another call about suspicious behavior and found an old man holding a detonator and _exploding_ the last of Utqiagvik’s cell towers. Service has been spotty at _best_ all day, and now...

 _The third one_ , she thinks dazedly. _This was the third one today. Not a mile from the last one. And I wasn’t even here for the first._

For a moment she feels a flash of relief that Jaina’s gone, because she tries not to bring frustration from work home with her and she’s been doing so well lately, really, but this. This is absolutely the last straw.

The last week has been a special kind of hellish. Utqiagvik’s civilians always get a little punchy in the time leading up to the long night, and the uptick in altercations she’s had to split up is nothing new. But the other things.

Some idiot who has nothing better to do than vandalize every car they come across, slashing tires and ruining engines. A rash of complaints from people missing their sled dogs, meaning either the owners have all developed extreme negligence at the same time or there’s _another_ idiot running around kidnapping animals. Just yesterday, a stolen _helicopter_ of all things that someone drove full tilt into the blasted ocean.

She, Nathanos, Liadrin, and the old man have been running ragged trying to catch even one of the perpetrators – and there must be more than one, because no one could be _this_ dedicated to crime. It’s made her short with her peers, with _Jaina_ on occasion, galling her to no end.

And now, now some old _lunatic_ had somehow managed to rig explosives to the _last functioning_ cell tower this town has, and she’s sitting, frozen, watching from the inside of her car as it crumbles with a jumble of screeches and whines into the fence surrounding it while her police radio chatters on and on.

“ _-h...r me? ...vanas there’s been...at..._ ”

She reaches with a numb hand to depress the button as the last of the structure squeals and falls flat.

“Nathanos, this tower’s gone too. Perp is alone, I’m engaging. Call...gods, who do we even have? Get Liadrin back here, we need more hands.”

A pregnant pause, and then:

“ _Call her...how_?”

 _...Shit._ Of all the days for the chief to develop a heart and send Liadrin off.

“Send her a carrier pigeon, I don’t care, just get me someone!”

He starts to say something else but she’s already moving, sprinting out of her vehicle and towards the man who isn’t even trying to run. He’s just walking, slowly, westward to the coast. It’s disappointing, really, because she's aching for a chase.

“Police! Hands where I can see them!”

He turns slowly, and squinting through the falling snow she can make out his arms limp at his sides, palms facing outward.

“On the ground,” she growls, advancing.

He complies with disturbing languor, sitting down without a care for the snow soaking into his clothes. She strides up and drops to her knees beside him, crushing a fist around the collar of his filthy coat.

This close, she can see dark hair matted underneath the snow. The same snow sticks to his scraggly mustache, giving him the illusion of a much older man. His face tilts upwards, staring through her with blue eyes threaded by red.

“Who are you working with? What are you doing in my town!?”

“I have _saved_ this town," he croaks. "Don't fret, it won’t be long now.”

He _knows_ something, and the faint lines of a picture she’s been trying to avoid start to come together in awful ways.

Not enough dogs. Not enough cars. Less fuel. No phones.

For one second, two, three, she's gripped by the dark impulse to shoot the man. If he’s the cause of all the trouble, the specter that’s been eluding her, she can end him here and now.

Her fingers tighten on his collar – and release it. He isn’t working alone, she’s certain of that much. If he has answers, they can be gotten out of him in a cell.

“By the authority of the North Slope Police Department, I am placing you under arrest.”

She grinds her teeth through the rest of reading him his rights while she hauls him to his feet. When she clips the cuffs on it's with more force than necessary.

“Oh, I surrender, officer. It’s all right now. We’ll be saved soon, all of us.”

Marching him back to her car, she thinks someone ought to save him from _her_.

|||||

_The first diner she found, 10:45am_

“Another.”

The sun might have just risen, but Liadrin is wide awake as she slams her - fifth? sixth? - drink back onto its coaster and pushes it across the counter. It strikes her that she really _must_ be boring if she can’t even drown her sorrows without remembering coasters. Maybe if she were less fastidious about water damage to dirty wooden countertops, she’d still be in a relationship. At least taking her own alcohol to a diner and demanding to be made drinks with it is more exciting, she supposes, though too little too late.

She’s a good cop, and she thought she’d been a good girlfriend, but she must have been wrong because when she woke up this morning her house was empty and the only explanation she got was a letter tossed carelessly on the kitchen counter.

_Hey babe, it’s been fun but I need to move on. Small towns are just so boring. No hard feelings?_

_-V_

If she really thinks about it, that’s what hurts the most. More than being broken up with via note, more than that note being _terrible_ , in the end she hadn’t even been worth Valeera signing her own damn name.

Across the counter, an oddly familiar night-elf waitress eyes her cautiously. “You sure?”

“I’m an officer of the law and I say it’s fine and it’s _my_ bottle so mix me another. Please,” she adds belatedly, knowing she needs at least a few more before she gets kicked out.

If the dreadful swimming in her head is any indication, that time is not far off.

Just because the _sale_ of alcohol is illegal here doesn’t mean she can’t find ways around it. Fly it in and it’s fine. Bring it to a restaurant, and because you’re a police officer you can make a game of ordering fanciful things with your girlfriend. A girlfriend who’s also proven resourceful, enough to take off in the middle of the night and no no dammit she doesn’t want to think about that.

The waitress – she knows her from somewhere but _where_ – levels a pointed look at her unbuttoned uniform, but still finds it in her heart to deliver another glass. Mixed with soda, and warm, because she doesn’t deserve to actually enjoy what she's drinking. Or ice cubes.

Valeera would have taken it on the rocks. Or made something fruity with an umbrella just because she knew it would make Liadrin roll her eyes. She’d known a lot of ways to get to Liadrin, a lot _about_ her, and Liadrin thought she knew her too but evidently not, not if she’d assumed they were happy while Valeera was packing her bags.

The neon signs lining the windows do a lot to disguise the dull light outside. It could be any time of day instead of four hours from sundown. It could be last night, before she’d woken up and realized she’d been living five months of a lie.

A siren warbles outside, provoking a thought for Sylvanas, who must be livid about her absence. She’ll make it up, pay her back, but gods she just...needs a day. One day.

Liadrin scoops up the noticeably emptier glass and brings it back to her mouth, certain this is as bad as it gets.

“Another.”

|||||

_Utqiagvik Police Station, 12:17pm_

“– _save us all, what bliss, it's almost here, finally, she’ll save_ –”

“Shut. Up.”

Nathanos is, for the most part, a patient man. He has to be, as one of only five officers remaining in town during the longest damn month of the year. Especially when two of the others are Sylvanas and Greymane. He’ll likely end up breaking up more disputes between _them_ than the civilians. Even Liadrin, usually steady, had been sent home early after stumbling in like a zombie. Sylvanas is working double to make up for the loss, and is consequently more quick to barbs than usual.

So. Patience. Until Sylvanas had dragged this babbling vagabond into a cell, claiming him responsible for the demolition of those thrice-damned towers, and then driven off in response to an earlier low-priority call from the laboratory out by the lagoon. Leaving him alone with a man who cares, very deeply and vocally, about being saved. No attempt at interrogation yielded anything beyond near-rapturous praise for whoever 'she' is. It's only gotten worse the lower the sun sinks in the sky.

“– _verything I’ve done she’ll surely help and all will know what it is to worship_ –”

The uninterrupted stream of delusion has him ready to rush out the door and take on some of the legwork, but Chief Shadowsong told him to hold down the fort and if that means putting up with this symphony of madness, he will. Even with his mounting headache, he will.

And maybe, now that Proudmoore’s out of town, he’ll see if Sylvanas is interested in a drink. She can’t find the girl and her science prattle  _that_ interesting. This could be his chance to show her he knows her so much better than some new arrival whose stay here is only temporary–

“– _ALL be saved, and I helped, she knows, she’ll know how I helped_ –”

Nathanos drops his face into his palm. Over the radio, a chipper voice is announcing “one doozy of a storm.”

|||||

_Patrol, 12:52pm_

It has been a _very_ long day for police chief Maiev Shadowsong. The first strike came at 7, when her most dependable officer shuffled in, responded to a single call about downed power lines, and came back to deliver a report on an entire cell tower being down with the cadence expected of a sleepwalker.

Maiev had taken one look at the way Liadrin was barely managing to scrawl out the report and sent the woman home. Sylvanas and Nathanos would arrive soon enough, no need to force Liadrin to do a job she clearly wasn’t capable of at the moment.

Five hours ago, the reasoning had been sound. Liadrin was in no state to work, and forcing extra responsibility on Sylvanas never hurt; the woman could use some tempering.

The second and third strikes happened within minutes of each other. Sylvanas was sent to investigate a call about suspicious behavior, and returned with news of the demolition of the remaining towers and a filthy man who couldn’t seem to stop raving about salvation at the hands of his ‘goddess’. Concerning, _alarming_ even, but not unsalvageable. But now, inching towards the industrial building and away from the car she’d leapt from after screeching to a halt by the side of the road, she isn’t so sure.

What had caught her eye was a smear of black on white, and slowing down to look she’d realized it was _red_. Not yet covered by the snow, no doubt because of the increasingly aggressive wind. And, moving step by careful step to the abandoned structure it's slipped from with a hand on her gun, she has to gird herself against the faint smell of decay.

There are no flies, but there seldom were in winter here. Maiev stops in front of the door, taking a breath to steady herself. She isn’t a woman accustomed to needing that, but she can’t fight the sense that all the problems plaguing her town will grow insurmountable once she sees past the threshold.

It could be a wounded animal hoarding kills. A wounded _person_. But it isn’t, and she _knows_ it, so she hesitates another few precious seconds. Berating herself all the while, because the problem exists whether she lays eyes on it or not.

It’s the sense of dwindling time that prompts her to nudge open the door to the small building with a snow-crusted boot, and all at once the stench is overwhelming. At first she isn’t sure what she’s seeing, but once she raises her flashlight over matted fur, red frozen to maroon, open jaws and glazed eyes – she stumbles back, suddenly too warm in spite of the wind whistling around her.

The room is filled with dogs, piled from the floor to what could be chest height if she could bring herself to step forward again. All dead, all...at least the ones she can see...bearing wounds that seem to have come from a dull instrument applied with so much force it became piercing. This, then, is the answer to the question of the sled dogs.

She takes slow, plodding steps back to her car. Composure trickles back more easily as distance grows between her and the reeking hut, and it’s only seconds before she has a hand on the car radio.

“Marris, come in.”

“ _Chief?_ ”

“Radio Windrunner and Greymane, tell them...”

Tell them what? That the answer to the missing dogs is an...an offal heap? That this is beyond vandalism, malicious in a way she’s never seen? If the other incidents are connected, a thought her officers have been bandying around, could this one be too? And if it is, what does that mean? That a widespread attempt to cut them off from communication and power is also connected to someone, or multiple someones, capable of _this_? 

Yes. All of that. The timing could not possibly be worse, and she’s certain now that that’s deliberate. Something terrible is coming to her town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, 30 Days of Night. Now with many more ladies (and magic, maybe?)  
> Somehow every time I edited this it got longer so I’m calling it off, it’s done, it’s posted.  
> Let me know what you think! I haven’t written in an age, so I’m nervous but also excited and I’d love some feedback on what works and what doesn’t.
> 
> (this chapter was so much longer than I thought it would be so I had to split it in two whoops. the second half should be up soon.)


	2. sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several people end up where they started.  
> Or: both Jaina and Valeera are terrified of hearing no, with vastly different results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the original second half of chapter 1! Posted this the second I finished it, so if you see a typo or a continuity fluffle please yell. Could also use a beta, mannn could I.  
> At this point I could probably build a fort with all these comma splices and dashes but you can pry them from my dash-slinging hands.

_Windrunner House,_   _10:13am|1:04pm_

This is the third time Vereesa’s tried to call her sister today, and the first time it’s  _finally_  gone through. She has a request, one that’s been thwarted by Sylvanas digging her heels in for at least two minutes. It’s time for the big guns.

“Just a look? If there’s something under there I’d really like it to be gone, and you have a gun, so...”

“Vereesa.” She can  _hear_  the clench of her sister’s jaw. “You’ll recall you  _also_  have a gun, because I let you sneak off with my old one. You will also recall that Shadowsong suspended me for two weeks afterwards, and would likely have done so for longer if she didn’t need me on the force so badly. And you’re asking me for another favor?”

“ _Please_ , sister?”

The silence on the other end isn’t too concerning, because if she knows Sylvanas – and she does – she’s getting the answer she wants in three...two...

“I’ll be there within the hour. I expect  _payment_ , Little Moon.”

Bingo.

“I’ll have coffee and cake ready. Love you!”

Her sister’s response is to hang up, which Vereesa takes to mean  _love you too_. She knows Sylvanas does, even if she hasn’t said it since Vereesa was still young enough to beg for piggyback rides. The middle Windrunner is prickly like that. Always has been, even before Alleria quit her job and moved halfway around the world.

 _After_  Alleria left Sylvanas hadn’t exactly gotten colder, just...distant, her joking demeanor becoming more performance than truth. If she has to guess, a lot of it is having to take the job Alleria abandoned. It’s one thing to be a lieutenant, and another to have the most senior member of the force tell you your sister was a better one on nearly a daily basis.

One of these days, Vereesa is absolutely going to slash old Genn’s tires. Sylvanas would probably buy her a cake as a thank-you gift.

She’d worried about her sister a little, until Jaina came along. The bright human quickly became one of Vereesa’s closest friends, and a lot more than that to Sylvanas. Watching her older sister stumbling over courtship is going to be blackmail material for _years_.

Beyond that novelty, Jaina’s been a breath of fresh air in this town with her strange theories about magic and wide-eyed curiosity. Whatever she’s working on up at the college with her lab buddies is beyond her, but seeing the sparkle in her friend’s eye when she tries to explain is good enough for her.

If Jaina  _can_  somehow use science, or theory, or  _anything_ to revive magic, more power to her. It certainly gives the kids in her class something to gossip about, even in the middle of her lessons.  _Especially_  then. That having Jaina around has Sylvanas acting obnoxiously comfortable in her own skin again is just a bonus.

Recently, Vereesa wishes she were more comfortable in  _hers_.

Not that she has anything to complain about! Her boyfriend is wonderful, she loves teaching, and her students are adorable if rowdy.

It’s just that there were  _explosions_  this morning.

Kids have been known to set off fireworks around this time, and she would never begrudge them that small excitement, not on vacation, but these were  _loud_ , and the suggestion of heavy smoke still hangs in the air, palpable despite the increasing volume of falling snow.

Even before that, all the gossip chain’s been laser-focused on for days is who’s missing what. Whose car was ruined, whose fuel was stolen, even whose ham radio was snatched.

And, that aside...

The noises under her house started a few days back. Rhonin volunteered to take a look, bless him, but his – very nice – shoulders were too broad to get far. She was all set to investigate herself, poke around with a broom until whatever animal might be sheltering there jumped out, but...

The sounds only ever come at night, and it isn’t the pitter-patter of rats or the harsh bark of a fox. Just a slow scraping that dies down as soon as she steps onto the porch to check it out.

Vereesa isn’t  _afraid_ , of course not, it’s just that there’s something  _furtive_  about the noises. As if whatever creature might be nesting under there isn’t sneaking around out of fear, but is  _trying_  to stay hidden.

Which is why, in the end, she calls her sister. Some instincts never fade, even if this isn’t quite a monster under her bed.

-

When Sylvanas does show it’s fully two hours late, enough that the light’s already starting to dim again.

Vereesa sees her pull up through the frosted windows. She asks Rhonin to get the cake ready, and because he’s perfect he winks and disappears into the kitchen without a word while she shoulders out the door.

The wind’s worse now, blowing up whole sheets of snow that make it difficult to see even the gleam of headlights, so when Sylvanas exits the car it takes Vereesa a moment to realize her sister isn’t sauntering over as usual but striding purposefully.

“There you are! What happened to ‘within the hour’?”

She moves in for a playful jab, but freezes before her elbow makes contact. Sylvanas smells like metal and smoke, and there’s something wild about the way she moves. It dawns on Vereesa that this is what her sister looks like when she’s afraid.

“My gun. You have it?” Her ears stand straight up, quivering, and Vereesa’s subconsciously rise to match.

“Y-Yes, but why–”

“Good. Keep it close.”

The picture Sylvanas paints as she shoves past and partially up the stairs – back tense, jaw tight, eyes scanning the landscape – is alarming enough without knowing that if she had the composure to hide all that, she would.

“Did something happen? Are you okay?” Vereesa follows her up the steps, stopping only when it’s clear Sylvanas isn’t going to cede her vantage at the top. Her sister is all stops and starts, unsure movement and clipped sentences.

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me you have ammunition, and – your door, it’s strong? Do you have anything to reinforce–”

_What?_

“I do, but, wait, just slow down and  _talk_  to me, Sylvanas, please!”

Her sister takes a deep breath, and her ears drop into something less alarmed. She falls into a crouch on the stairs, still surveying the scenery.

“The cell towers are gone. All of them. Between that and...” Sylvanas trails off, assessing her with cool grey eyes, then darts her gaze away. “And the other things that have been happening, I feel as though something... As if our town is being led into a trap. I can see the snares but I can’t sense the hunter, all I have is a raving madman in jail and–”

She stops, visibly collecting herself until her veneer of a smirk is back in place. “But this isn’t your headache. Us white hats have it well in hand, I’m sure. Let’s see if we can at least solve your animal problem, hm?”

“The –  _gone_? What?”

Vereesa blocks her sister’s attempt to stand, looking for answers. All she finds is a wall, any emotion hidden behind the harsh twist of practiced lips.

“Just more hooligans, sister mine. Forgive my frustration, it’s nothing to worry about. Shall we?”

It certainly  _is_  something to worry about if Sylvanas is telling her to be ready to use a gun, but she lets it slide. Something has her trickster of a sister truly rattled, and she doesn’t want to make it worse. It unnerves her more than the idea of anything being able to trap a  _town_. Maybe Sylvanas is right, this _isn’t_ a problem she wants to deal with today.

So she hands over a flashlight, and after clearing a section of the surrounding snow they both kneel down to peer under the porch. Even though she knows it’s coming, the sensation of slush seeping into her pants makes her wince.

They spend a few minutes trying to get a glimpse under the icy wood, but nothing leaps out. There’s no gleam of eyes in the low light to mark a creature lurking there, but now that she’s closer to whatever the source is she picks up a scent. Her nose wrinkles instinctively, but it isn’t the rot she expects.

It’s not musky either, but something like...ozone? Electric and wet.

Sylvanas takes a sharp breath, ears swiveling. She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound, inexplicably halfway to afraid.

“Can you...” She swallows, mouth dry. “Can you see anything?”

Sylvanas shakes her head absently – not a  _no_  – pushing her shoulders down and under.

“Hold on, let me just...”

She starts to shift forward, lithe form disappearing under the porch. Vereesa is struck immediately with a premonition that if her sister crawls under there, she’ll never come back out.

She bites back the thought, telling herself not to be a child, but as more and more of Sylvanas’ body vanishes the feeling sharpens into an urgency that has her crying out before she can stop herself.

“Wait!”

Sylvanas does, murmuring a question she can’t hear over the sweeping gusts of wind.

“You’re – you’ve obviously got a lot going on, you don’t need to go squeezing under my house today. Let’s do this when things...calm down a little, okay?”

After a considering pause she wriggles her way out again. Her mouth is tight, ears pinned flat to her head and reddening in the cold, but still, a tightness Vereesa hadn’t realized was in her chest eases.

“And after all your pleas. But as you wish, little sister.” Sylvanas gives the hollow a backwards glance, then gets to her feet. “After all this it won’t be so easy to get me out here again, mind.”

She hums an acknowledgment, wisely keeping to herself how easy it always is to get Sylvanas to do things for her.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to call you here for nothing. Come in and dry off, do you still want that cake? Rhonin was cutting it–”

A wave of her sister’s hand cuts her off.

“No time, sadly. I need to see a man about a generator.”

She hands her flashlight back and takes a step in the direction of her car, then halts and looks back over a stiff shoulder.

“Vereesa...”

Vereesa waits, wondering if Sylvanas will voice more of the concerns she’s keeping bunched up inside. Instead, she gives her an atypical pat on the shoulder before swinging her legs into the driver’s seat and leaving.

Afterwards, staring out at the worsening storm, she wonders if her sister’s smile has ever been so clearly forced.

It takes Rhonin three tries to get her attention from the door, but when he reminds her of the cake she’s happy enough to follow him to the kitchen. No need to let a good thing go to waste.

-

“Do you think your sister would arrest me if I proposed?”

To Vereesa’s credit, she only  _almost_  drops the plate she’s drying before swinging around to face her boyfriend of two years. He’s covered in suds up to his elbows, the way he always is when he does the washing up, and his wide smile makes her heart skip.

“ _Are_  you? Proposing?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Hypothetically, of course. I wouldn’t dare do that in the middle of dishes.”

The spike of shock in her chest fades, replaced by a slow bloom of happiness. For the first time in days, things might just be sliding back to normal.

“Then, hypothetically, she might try but I definitely wouldn’t let her.”

|||||

 _Freezing stoop, 1:27pm_ | _3:04pm_

Valeera Sanguinar is an absolute idiot. No, worse. What worse  _is_  she can’t say, only that she thinks she might’ve broken Liadrin’s heart and maybe sort of her own by accident. Leaving was supposed to make her feel better, not  _lousy_ , and to top it all off she couldn’t even do that right because she’s back outside the house she snuck out of this morning.

Only this time there’s no Liadrin, just a howling wind that blows straight through her. She’s even pathetically resorted to throwing her jacket over her head and huddling against the railing.

Her efforts to call a taxi on her way back from the airport were in vain, since her phone decided to crap out on top of everything else. A passing plow brought her back to town, so she tried the one hotel still open with no luck. Now she’s here, but Liadrin’s gone. And of course, she doesn’t have her key because she was never supposed to be back.

The wind flings more powder in her face, as if to spite the meager protection of her jacket. Her ears tremble miserably, seeking a warmth that isn’t coming.

It’s not lost on her that she could have gone to anyone else’s place, and some of them might even have let her do it for free. But she’s cold, and stressed, and when she’s those things she comes here. It was more than half-instinct, and anyway if she tries to move now she might just trip and stay down.

She regrets her earlier bravado with Jaina now, though the possibility that she might die out here hadn’t really occured to her until this moment. Wouldn’t that be a pretty gift to Liadrin, to devastate her and die on her doorstep in the same day. If she  _is_  even devastated. Maybe she’s just relieved that Valeera’s finally gone, because how could the cop want someone like  _this_  in her life?

Even as she thinks it she knows it’s a lie, something petty to make herself feel better. She knows Liadrin cares –  _cared_. That word is as close as she can get to acknowledging the weight of what she’s done. And just as well, because if you look for the fucking truth of it she...she also...

The crunch of boots in snow draws her half-lidded gaze, but when she finally drags her eyes up she almost wishes she  _had_  frozen first.

Liadrin stands at the bottom of the steps, hair blazing somehow more vividly within the snow whirling around her, and her face looks exactly the way Valeera always imagined it would one day. Like Valeera’s the worst thing that could happen to her.

“Wh–” she chokes out.

She expected a slap, so even half a word is a start.

“Believe me when I, I say I would rather have...done anything else,” she begins, voice trembling with the cold and definitely not fear, “but the, the hotel’s booked and you know I don’t have, have a, a car so if you could, if you uh, if...”

Somewhere in her spinning mind, she understands she’s dangerously cold. Liadrin must have noticed first, because she’s already halfway up the steps by the time she trails off, shrugging out of her oversized coat and pulling it around Valeera as she fumbles at the door.

The alcohol on the older woman’s breath is both the confirmation she’d secretly hoped for and a condemnation all in one. The relief doesn’t say a thing about herself she didn’t already know, but it still sucks.

She slides sideways in Liadrin’s hold as they cross the threshold, and then she’s being bundled swiftly onto the couch while Liadrin peels her snow-covered clothes off her shivering body. Any other time, she’d let slip one of several smart remarks she has lined up. But any other time Liadrin’s hands wouldn’t be trembling, so for once she chooses the kinder option and just lets her head tilt back while her thoughts float.

Liadrin completes her work in silence, and soon enough Valeera’s completely bare and nestled under several blankets. It’s  _frigid_  in the small living room, worse than this morning, but the blankets help. So does Liadrin fitting around her, pressing them both into the too-small couch.

“Sorry for making your day worse,” she slurs, seeking out amber eyes despite herself.

“I’ll stay until I’m certain you don’t need a doctor,” Liadrin says, too calm. The first full sentence she’s spoken, and it’s so detached. Not that Valeera deserves anything else. “Then I am going to stay anywhere else until you’re gone. I’ll leave you my card. Do what you want with it.”

“You really are...too good...” she manages, and then she’s out.

-

True to her word, Liadrin stays until color returns to Valeera’s cheeks and her shudders ease into calm, steady breathing. Immediately after, she leaves her own credit card on the low table next to the couch, as well as a glass of water because damn it all she can’t help herself. Then she grabs her wallet and keys and staggers out the door.

Too drunk and also not drunk  _enough_  she may well be, but she knows she shouldn’t drive and attempting to call Sylvanas had only resulted in no sound at all, so walking it is. It should be maddening that Sylvanas lives across the street from the same damn diner she was at earlier, but even the annoyance she summons is its own kind of numb.

It’s barely four blocks, anyway, and while at the back of her mind she knows it doesn’t matter in weather like this, not when she’s so far gone, she can’t bring herself to care.

Another siren blips somewhere close, reminding her of the responsibilities she’s shirked all day. She knows she should care, but the chief and the rest of the force are more than capable. Sylvanas might still be furious, but she should be off soon and no matter how mad the other woman is, Liadrin is certain she won’t send her packing.

The rest...the rest she can figure out in the morning.

It’s cold, but she can barely feel it. At least the burn of the whiskey in her stomach is good for that much. As she focuses on walking, she raises a gloved hand to shield her face from the impending whiteout. There are a few others mulling around in the dark, but she doesn't bother to hail any of them.

Over the shriek of the gusts whipping up around her she hears a noise – a  _squelch_ , almost – behind her. When she looks back though, instincts sharp even with her mind so diluted, there’s only the whirling snow.

|||||

 _I_ _ḷ_  s _aġvik College, Temp Lab, 10:34am|2:46pm_

Jaina asked to be taken up to the college, and the kind orc accepted amiably enough despite the route taking him out of his way. He’d also refused the money she tried to press into his large hand, reinforcing her belief that he deserves a raise.

Now, boots thudding through empty halls, she feels a little silly. It would have been better to head to the police station, maybe, and wait for Sylvanas there. But, well, she  _does_  want to check on the lab one more time, so it’s not as if she’s putting off that conversation. Right?

She’ll be fine if Sylvanas says no. Of course she will. Being fine is the rational thing to be, if her significant other isn’t comfortable with having Jaina dropped on her for a month. But what if the answer  _is_  no? What if this isn’t as serious as Jaina thinks, what if Sylvanas is annoyed, what if–

“Miss Proudmoore?”

She starts, colliding with a wall, and turns to see Antonidas standing nearby. The embarrassment has her cringing before she fully registers his calm expression.

“Oh, Professor you...you startled me.” She laughs weakly, straightening up.

“Please accept my apology, child. I had thought you gone.”

“I thought so too, but the airport’s closed so I thought I could...check on the samples?”

She winces internally, very aware she sounds like an unsure novice, but her mentor offers a mild smile.

“By all means. I’m sorry to hear of your misfortune, but I’ll admit to looking forward to having an able lab partner for the coming month. If you would be amenable, of course.”

“Of course! I don’t know how much we can do with the others gone, but I’d love to keep at it.”

Antonidas laughs, less reserved than she’s come to expect.

“Between the two of us and Miss Sparkshine, I’m confident we can prise at least one secret from these relics. After all, who among us has gotten closer than you?”

“Kinndy’s still here?” she asks before she can rein herself in. Cheeks burning, she tries again. “But, no, I just...once it seemed possible the carvings represented a language it only made sense to...to try and decipher...”

“It was a compliment deserved, Miss Proudmoore. And yes, Miss Sparkshine is another whose trip was sadly delayed, though her circumstances are a result of her own, hmm...enthusiasm.”

Kinndy combined with enthusiasm is a precarious topic, but she broaches it anyway.

“Sir?”

“Ah, no damage to the laboratory this time. Only her own room, I hear.”

So long as her friend is fine Jaina doesn’t see the need to dwell on what precisely she blew up this time, so she only nods.

The crinkles at the corners of his eyes suggest Antonidas is smiling beneath his beard when he offers: “Shall we inspect our lab, then?”

Giving up on hiding her blush, Jaina follows him down the hall.

-

Secluded behind the doors that keep their lab safe from the outside, her breaths come easier. Something about this environment has Jaina in her element.

Even after all this time, she isn’t sure how to handle people praising her for her work. She basks in it, but it doesn’t feel deserved. If she can get past this obstacle though, if she can decode the strange writing and carve a path towards using the objects to perform magic, they’ll all know she was right. That she’s been right the entire time.

Then, maybe, she’ll have something to be proud of. Something not even her former teachers can scoff at. They certainly had words enough on the subject.

For the world at present, it isn’t a matter of  _belief_  in magic that holds its study back. Everyone believes, because they know it  _used_  to be real. By all accounts – the ones that survived – it was once widespread, as natural as breathing. A part of the planet. But there had been some who didn’t want to share.

Everyone learns, as early as elementary school, that those who desired to horde magic began drawing it out of the air. It was tethered to artifacts that could only be accessed through means since lost to time. Over decades, whole nations began to lose the force they had relied on for so long. Power, once universal, became consolidated by the old families who would pass those amassed treasures down their bloodlines. Until, finally, there was no magic left in the world but what remnants endured in those stones.

And then – silence. For one hundred years, a void in history. A void her former professors would never even  _speculate_  about, _content_ to let it remain in darkness.

Something catastrophic, the stories say. A history so terrible no one spoke of it. Now, hundreds of years later, all anyone knows is that if those stones  _did_  once exist there’s no sign of them now.

Until Antonidas did what no one else would – he funded his own expedition, 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle, excavating down into the bodies of water nearest the coast. His peers called him eccentric, but that stopped mattering when he actually  _found_  something.

A rock, lined with symbols very like the records, dredged up from the middle lagoon. Another from the smaller body of water farther south, chipped but with the same foreign etchings.

One, disk-shaped and maybe three inches in circumference, Jaina had gotten a section of to glow by puzzling out a part of the strange language and speaking it aloud. Only a small part, filling in the engravings on the underside with a faint blue light, but it’s  _something_.

The conditions are different for every object, they’ve discovered that much. The only one she’d managed to get a reaction out of had been a fluke, when she spoke the segmented words while holding it with hands still damp from rinsing up. Repeat attempts with dripping hands yielded a brighter glow, but without greater knowledge of the cipher that’s all they’ve been able to accomplish.

After that, the lab had gone a little mad with a goal finally in reach. Everything they could think of, they tried on the other stones. With the blind enthusiasm of new scholars they’d attempted fire, dirt,  _more_  water, and even acid at the behest of an insistent Kinndy. That last had cost them a fourth sample, but it never dampened their fervor.

It either means they simply haven’t been able to read enough of the writing on the other specimens, or it requires something they haven’t discovered yet.

But they  _will_ , Jaina’s certain.

She turns the stone she’s made progress with over in her palm. It emits a faint hum – not the first time it’s done this in a snowstorm. Oh if only she knew  _why_. 

Before she loses herself in speculation, somewhere on campus a clock chimes 3.

_Is it that late already...?_

A knock at the door has Jaina jumping again. Antonidas walks over from the other side of the lab, relaxed as ever.

“Ah, that will be the police. I asked someone over earlier to investigate an...incident with the generator. Excuse me for a moment.”

Jaina hangs back, because no matter which officer it is the potential for awkwardness is huge. She doesn’t think she can look Liadrin in the eye after the scene – with her...ex? – at the airport earlier. Genn doesn’t mind her but does mind Sylvanas, so she never knows how to act around him. Nathanos doesn’t like her  _because_  he likes Sylvanas, which is its own headache. And Sylvanas herself being the officer on call means Jaina would have to find the spine to ask if she can stay with her.

Yes, it’s possible that Sylvanas would have asked a month from now and, yes, it’s perfectly fine if she doesn’t want Jaina here. It’s just, she was supposed to have time, they both were, and she isn’t ready to hear  _no_  today.

Or! Or she could just ask Antonidas if she can sleep in the lab, that’s a perfectly reasonable response to–

“Jaina? Are you alright, what’s happened? What are you doing here?”

She looks up to see Sylvanas hurrying over, answering her dilemma. Antonidas waits in the doorway, catching her eye before walking off to give them some privacy.

Okay, alright. She can do this. Even if Sylvanas doesn’t look at all happy. Jaina’s not used to the balled fists and tight jaw, not directed at  _her_.

She steps forward to meet her, gathering her courage.

“My flight was cancelled and I couldn’t reach you so I, I um...”

That’s as far as she gets before Sylvanas snaps back. “You should be at home!”

The elf radiates adrenaline, posture sharp in a way Jaina’s never seen before. It hurts, more than a little, but she forces herself to keep talking somehow.

“I, do you not want, I can ask at the hotel if...if you’d rather I...”

The longer she rambles, the more Sylvanas deflates. When it’s clear Jaina has nothing more then silence left she slowly unclenches her fists, heaving out a sigh.

“No, I...am glad to see you, make no mistake. But you chose a fine time to stay.” She touches a hand to Jaina’s arm, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Every possible thing went wrong today. I’d hoped you wouldn’t be caught up in it, but I’m still at fault.”

Jaina leans into the touch, relieved beyond belief. Sylvanas isn’t mad at her. Still she can’t help but worry, because for the elf to admit something’s wrong is like catching sight of a blue moon.

“It’s alright, I’m sure I surprised you. Are _you_ okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” It would be a brush-off, if Sylvanas didn’t immediately pull her into a close embrace. “I’d be better if we could get you someplace safe. What were you even doing here?”

Jaina stiffens. “Is the lab  _not_  safe? I just...thought I’d check on the state of things.”

Sylvanas produces a weak laugh.

“Of course you would return to work. But no, did the professor not tell you? Someone waltzed up and smashed your generator. I advised him to head home, and your friend too. You should as well.”

Jaina’s frightened, and  _angry_. How dare someone interfere with her work? More importantly, is this what her girlfriend is still dealing with? She burrows deeper into Sylvanas’ hold.

“Do you think it’s the same person? Who’s been doing it to everyone?”

“I have no doubt it’s related, so you mustn’t stay here.”

That marks the second time Sylvanas has said it, so maybe...

“Then where  _should_  I stay?” Jaina offers.

“I’d advise a hotel, but they’re no doubt closed.”

“Are you going to offer, or keep playing coy?”

Not long ago, Jaina wouldn’t have said it. Even now a cold nervousness steals up her spine, but Sylvanas’ easy laugh as she holds her all the more tightly dispels it.

“Consider this my offer,” she murmurs. “Do you accept?”

“Always.”

-

Jaina ends up taking the glowing artifact with her, as well as the script of the cipher she’s been pulling her hair out over – with permission, of course. There are backups online, but it would be devastating if these went the way of the generator so she’s happy Antonidas sees it the same way. He also sees fit to wink at her on her way out, so if she had any chance of _not_ continuing to be flushed around her mentor, well. That ship has sailed.

Sylvanas graciously – and uncharacteristically – offers to drive both him and Kinndy back to town, but Antonidas claims a few more tasks to run. Since he has his own car and is more than happy to escort Kinndy to the singular B&B where she resides, Sylvanas lets it drop. Jaina and Antonidas part with a promise to compare theories again the next day.

The drive back leaves Jaina tired, but satisfied. Her day was short by most standards, but oddly, leaning against the window while Sylvanas maneuvers the car at a crawling pace along the familiar path from the school to her house, she’s exhausted.

Normally, looking at the passing landscape is routine in a way that grounds her. Now, veiled by the storm, it’s the opposite. The true barrage the radio warned of is slamming them in earnest now, but watching the wind whisk past the window Jaina feels unmoored. There's only a scattering of people outside, and the few windows she’s able to peek at as they pass are shuttered.

Somewhere to the...south?...she hears the short bleep of a loudspeaker.

“Hey?”

It comes out unbidden, needy in a way she doesn’t want to be. Before the shame can submerge her the way it had earlier Sylvanas carefully rests a hand on her thigh, briefly grounding her before she places it back at the wheel.

Jaina breaths out in a rush, and uses her words.

“What happened today? I’ve never seen you so worried.”

The car jerks minutely, but when she looks Sylvanas’ hands still have the wheel in a firm grip. Maybe too firm. For a stretch of silence she doesn’t think the elf will answer, but finally the words come.

“You know I’ve been busy at work. It’s...because there’s been a concentrated effort to undermine this town. We don’t have concrete proof of that, but we are certain someone very dangerous is here.”

Grey eyes flit her way, and Jaina stares back at them as long as she dares. It’s enough, because despite gritting her teeth Sylvanas looks back to the road first before continuing.

“The chief and I, and the others, we’re all agreed we can stop a band of fools. I would still...like to keep you close.” She turns to Jaina and smiles, though her knuckles are still white around the wheel. “I can’t have you losing my key.”

Jaina leans into her shoulder, marveling as it relaxes minutely against her. “And owe you that kind of money? Never.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure the single pizza you could buy me to make up for it would never mend the hole in my heart.”

It’s somehow such a relief to hear Sylvanas snarking again that she wraps an arm around her rigid back, and keeps it there until they’re pulling up at the house.

When they’re parked safely - and mostly evenly - on top of the snow-filled drive they rush inside, Sylvanas pulling the suitcase behind her. The storm lashes at their heels, and it isn’t until the door slams behind them that Jaina finds the mettle to say what’s on her mind.

“Are you really okay with me being here? I don’t want you to think that you have to...to put up with me.”

As unusually tense as Sylvanas has been since they found each other at the lab, she softens piece by piece now. It’s only her ears, fixed to the sides of her head, that give her away when she steps in and kisses Jaina against the door so softly it’s like a mirage.

“Allow me to apologize again for earlier,” she murmurs, hands around Jaina’s shoulders. “I am exceptionally glad to have you here – you do remember I never wanted you to leave?”

 _I love you_ , Jaina thinks. They haven't said it yet, but this might be the time so she should just–

Before she can stammer past  _"I"_ , two things happen at once: someone knocks tentatively at the door, and the walkie strapped to Sylvanas’ belt crackles to life.

“ _...in, where are you...eed to...quick..._ ”

The elf ignores it, peering out the window before making an agitated noise and pulling the door open.

“Liadrin...?”

Sylvanas’ fellow officer stands at the threshold, looking weighed down by more than the snow covering her shoulders.

“I. Can I stay. Valeera’s in my house, and I can’t be.”

Jaina gasps around the sinking sensation in her stomach, because she has a suspicion she knows exactly why Liadrin’s here and not at home. Sylvanas hovers for a moment before opening the door wider.

“Here, let’s get you–”

Outside the door, there’s a flare of light before the town goes dark.

|||||

_Sunset_

As the last of the light disappears, the thing under Vereesa Windrunner’s porch opens its eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why I thought even the suggestion of magical realism in a story about vampires(?) running amok was a good idea is beyond me, but here we go I guess. Exposition awaaaay.  
> Can you believe no one's explicitly dead yet? Me neither.  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What follows happens very quickly. People live and die by a series of coincidences.  
> Or: Sylvanas corrals people, does a lot of walking, and wonders if Greymane is right about her worth compared to her older sister’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence typical of horror movies.  
> Y’all have been great about the feedback, I love reading your comments! Thanks for all of them, and I hope you keep having fun.

_Before_

“This is Chief Maiev Shadowsong. Stay in your homes. There are suspicious and dangerous individuals about.”

The last of the echoes fade from the loudspeaker as people scramble away from her vehicle to obey. She nods, satisfied. With the south section taken care of she only needs to complete her loop around the middle, then a short run up to the college. After which, she and her officers can search the town piece by piece until they find the other psychopath(s) responsible for this.

The people are frightened, and her shrunken department is doing what it can to reassure them. Morale is not helped by _some_ of those officers not performing as they should.

Sylvanas was bad enough when she only had her younger sister to show off for, but with the Proudmoore girl that sense of showmanship dials up to eleven. The woman is louder, somehow _more_ sarcastic, and has lately taken to preening on duty as well as off.

If Maiev were the sentimental type, she might be tempted to think it _cute_. Because she is not the sentimental type, tomorrow she’ll call Sylvanas into her office and give her one hell of a dressing down. Being a good officer doesn’t mean she should flaunt it. They’re all on edge, now more than ever an example must be set.

On the subject of setting examples... Half a block away, veering from one side of the sidewalk to the other, she can make out Liadrin in her headlights. Even at this distance she’s noticeably intoxicated.

Maiev’s brow furrows. She’d been the one to send her home, but that was before everything went to hell. Liadrin should know better, usually does. Still, much as she disapproves, Maiev isn’t about to let one of her own wander around in the cold.

She warbles the siren as Liadrin skews toward an alley, but the woman doesn’t so much as halt.

Fine then. She won’t be seen riding alongside an officer with the siren on. If anything would lower morale today, it’s that. Maiev parks by the side of the road and begins jogging over, concern warring with frustration as Liadrin disappears into the cut of the alley.

About to hail her officer, she senses a presence at her back half a second before a cold hand wraps around her neck from behind – _from nowhere_ – digging sharp nails into her skin.

She snaps her head back to break the hold. Whatever she hits is like _stone_. Staggered and dazed, she lunges forward – or tries, but the clenching hand is implacable.

Her assailant only chuckles, throaty, and constricts those cold fingers until she can’t breath, let alone cry out.

She tears at that hand with her own, finding no purchase.

 _So strong how are they so strong it’s_ inhuman _, the town–_

-

Washing up completed, Vereesa spends an unsatisfying hour trying to read a book before giving up. Time to deal with what she’s avoiding. She heads to the upstairs closet where the safe is, spending a few minutes just standing in front of it and worrying over what Sylvanas said.

She doesn’t want to take the gun out, because that would mean admitting she’s afraid. Remembering her sister’s own fear is what gets her spinning through the combination anyway, reaching out to start loading the weapon robotically.

She used to _plead_ with Sylvanas to take her to the makeshift range her older sisters painstakingly constructed out of tin cans and boards one long-ago summer. At first they never let her come along, but it didn’t stop her asking every time.

When Vereesa got older Sylvanas was the one to give in, always with a huff that couldn’t quite hide her smile. They used to spend hours out there. Even if it’s been years, the memories are happy ones.

She wants those memories to keep being happy. She doesn’t want anything to happen that means she has to use this for real. But even more than that, she wants to be able to protect the people she loves.

Just as she finishes with the ammunition, glass breaks downstairs. It’s louder than a cup or plate should be, but it isn’t until she hears a crash and her boyfriend’s alarmed yell that everything Sylvanas implied comes slamming down on her at once.

-

With an anticipatory cringe against the cold, Gelbin Mekkatorque exits his small shop. The weather’s been on a steady decline since the morning, and now it’s simply dreadful. No need to keep things running in a storm like this. He really doesn’t think anyone’s going to come with a repair request in this weather, not after what the chief said about staying inside.

Well and good, since he’d like to retire for the day. It’s been a tumultuous time, between the plumes of smoke earlier and so many things going missing. The mystery of it makes him fidgety.

He flips the small sign from OPEN to CLOSED just as he takes note of someone standing on his left, barely out of plain sight. Readying an apology, he turns his head but – no one.

Could it be the weather playing tricks? Possibly. The snow’s thickened a good deal since the morning. He shrugs, takes the handle of one of his double doors, and – that sensation again, on his right this time.

He spins in time to see a person coming at him, moving in a way that puts him in mind of a predator.

“Excu–” he starts.

They never break stride, hitting him with unimaginable force while placing an inflexible grip on his arm. He starts to protest, to bluster, but then he gets a good look at the face of his captor, at eyes like an empty starless sky, and he whimpers.

The hand around his forearm _yanks_ and he – falls, dazed. When he hits the snow-covered street, something lands beside him.

Gelbin registers a bewildered _that’s my arm_ , and then nothing at all.

-

Valeera wakes up alone in the dark living room. It’s chilly, but not like before. It still takes her whole minutes to leave the bearable shelter of the blankets, but eventually she decides Liadrin’s bedroom would be better than hanging around here.

Her clothes, wherever they are, have to be soaked. Might as well loot some. She drinks the water Liadrin left first, trying to soothe her cracked lips. That the woman had even bothered stabs at her, but she wrestles that back down.

She’ll think about it later. Liadrin leaving her money, leaving her the _house_ for a month, and making it clear she never wants to see her again... _all_ of that is for later. Now she just wants to find some clothes and sleep for a year.

After appropriating some pajamas that hang loose on her slighter frame, she falls on Liadrin’s bed and immediately starfishes. It still smells like the older woman’s cinnamon body wash. Damn it.

This is such a mess. _She’s_ such a mess. She wasn’t supposed to be around to see that face. That ‘oh, not _you_ ’ expression. That was the whole _point_. Valeera curls around the pillow on Liadrin’s side more tightly.

Because she’s not in the living room, when she hears the window shatter and someone thundering around inside she has just enough time to slide under the bed.

There’s a noise like...gods, like torture, a scream that promises pain, as heavy feet pound down the hallway. She presses a hand against her mouth so firmly she’s sure it’ll bruise, and wishes she knew how to pray.

|||||

_Now_

“Liadrin...?”

One look at the haggard expression on her fellow officer’s – and friend’s, sometimes – face, is enough for Sylvanas to move back to let her in. Liadrin takes a shaky step forward, and damn, she can nearly _taste_ the whiskey on her breath.

“I. Can I stay. Valeera’s in my house and I can’t be.”

Jaina gasps behind her, but Sylvanas is more focused on the snow caking Liadrin’s coat.

“Here, let’s get you–”

– _dry_ , she would have said, but then the firehouse on the west side goes up in flames. She has a moment to watch, to feel the sight imprinting on her retinas, and then the town’s power flickers and dies. All at once she has other concerns.

There’s a pause in the dark. Liadrin tenses under the hand Sylvanas meant to use to draw her inside.

Then, screams. Not from any one direction, and only some nearby, but this is more than civilians spooked by the loss of electricity. These cries are desperate.

Added to those alarming sounds, the clap of gunfire echoes across the water to the south. It’s accompanied by muffled explosions and something... _else_ , a cry that rises above the rest, spiraling into a pitch that should shred normal lungs.

The light of the burning fire station illuminates enough of the surrounding street for her to watch in disbelief as one figure chases down another, throwing it to the ground and tearing at it with the ferocity of a wild animal. A pool starts to form around them, and gods that’s _blood_.

She has to do something but what, what _is_ this, what–

It’s hearing Jaina fumble in the dark behind her that snaps her out of it. Sylvanas yanks Liadrin inside, closing the door and moving them away from the windows. She guides Jaina as well with a firm hand, conscious of the human’s poorer dark vision.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Jaina protests, trying to look back. “Is there a fire?”

She doesn’t know how to answer, so she doesn’t. Her walkie still crackles at her waist, and she reaches for it with a numb hand.

The volume is nearly all the way down. Probably since her visit to the lab. _Careless_.

“I’m here.” She almost doesn’t recognize her voice.

“ _Where have you_ been?” Nathanos barks. “ _Tell me you’re not on the south side._ ”

“No, I...had to bring Jaina to my house. We’re still there. Nathanos, someone lit up the fire station.”

“ _Proudmoore? Why – no, listen. There’s an unidentified group, must be on drugs or, or something. Too many of them, going after people, dragging them out of houses and... They’re killing them, Sylvanas._ ”

In all the years she’s known Nathanos, his rough voice has never sounded so feeble. She can’t blame him, not when what he’s saying is impossible to wrap her head around.

“Where’s the chief? Greymane?”

“ _Chief was driving your way before all this, telling people to stay inside. Greymane’s heading there now, with as many people as he could fit in one of the vans. We’ve got to regroup, at a church maybe_.”

Mind now in overdrive, Sylvanas thinks furiously. Beside her Jaina and Liadrin remain silent, the other elf slowly sliding down a wall to the floor, but most of her attention is focused on the walkie and the inconceivable words coming from it.

Alleria would have known what to do. She would analyze the situation calmly, rationally, and find the best solution. A pity they’re stuck with her instead, but she’s enough. She has to be.

“None of the churches have backup generators, we couldn’t hold out long. What about that diner, the one with the whale? If they’re after people they might ignore a building they think is empty, at first.” She considers the fire, and that...attack. “I think some are already here – how fast are they moving?”

To his credit, Nathanos takes her barrage in stride.

“ _Northern Lights? Could work. And_ too _fast. I’m setting up a roadblock at the south bridge, but it won’t stop them for long_.”

“A roadblock? How do you expect anyone else to get up here?”

A pause. “ _The people with Greymane are the only ones we have any chance of helping_.”

The air freezes in her lungs. Every fear and instinctive denial vanishes from her spinning mind. All that’s left is: _how_.

She stares at the walkie, waiting for Nathanos to take it back. When he doesn’t, she forces herself to take one breath, then another.

“...Okay. Okay. Hurry over, don’t do anything rash. If roadblocks don’t stop them I won’t have you risking your life over it. I have Liadrin with me, we’ll meet you there.”

“ _One piece of good news. Be safe, Sylvanas_.”

When she takes her finger off the button she can’t bring herself to move at first.

Shadowsong had been heading this way. She was telling people to stay inside. There are still people _outside_ , and if she came straight up the south path and didn’t bother to wrap around east first...

She clips the walkie back to her belt, looking up to see Jaina’s mouth trembling. Liadrin stares straight ahead from where she’s slumped against the wall, immobile.

Sylvanas grips Jaina’s hand, hoping to transfer some sense of steadiness.

“So. The diner’s just behind my house, across the street. You go quickly, and quietly. If you see anyone on the way, bring them along. Once you’re inside, explain and set about covering the windows. Then you wait for Nathanos and Greymane, and figure out your next move. Understood?”

Her brusque instructions don’t have much effect, at first. Liadrin seems to have checked out altogether, and Jaina...

“He – he said everyone across the bridge is...going to _die?_ I don’t _understand_.” Jaina’s chest hitches over and over, tears building in her eyes.

Sylvanas draws her close to kiss her forehead, knowing they don’t have time but unwilling to not at least try to comfort her. It hurts that she failed to keep Jaina away from this.

“I know. I’m sorry. But for now you need to get to the diner. You’ll be safe there, at least for a little while.”

“Why do you sound like you’re not coming?”

“Smart girl.” Sylvanas attempts a smile. “There are still people in the street, which means Shadowsong and her warning never made it this far. I’m going to get Vereesa, and anyone else I can find. I’ll meet you there. If you move, Nathanos or Greymane can let me know with this.”

She pats the walkie. Jaina looks to be gearing up to protest, but Sylvanas pushes past it.

“Are you still conscious, Liadrin? I need to know you can function long enough to cross the street.”

“I _left_ her,” Liadrin chokes from her position on the floor.

“What?” Not the level of functioning she’d hoped for, but talking at least means she’s conscious.

“I left her, I need to go back.”

“Go _where–_ ”

“My house. If you’re right and the chief never came here, Valeera won’t know anything’s wrong either. What if, what if–” She looks up at Sylvanas, three-quarters to panicked and still very obviously drunk.

“You live four blocks east. The diner is _right here_ , Liadrin. Some of those screams were from that direction, I know you heard them.” She flashes her fangs, trying to control the situation. “Don’t be a fool. Even if you _could_ drive, I only have the one car.”

“You’re going even further!” She struggles to her feet, pawing at the couch for support. “And I _have_ to, Sylvanas, she’s alone and I...I have to.”

“ _I_ can stand without swaying!” She flinches at the volume, trying to rein herself in. “You reek like a distillery, do you really think you’ll make it there and back?”

Jaina’s eyes dart between them, nervous. The stalemate breaks when Liadrin sprints for the door, somehow retaining the coordination to dodge Sylvanas’ attempt to grab her. Then she’s gone.

She and Jaina stare after her, then at each other. Another shot rings out, closer this time.

“What do we do? We have to follow her, don’t we?”

Jaina’s right. There’s a logical process here, and Sylvanas wants very badly to avoid the consequences of its conclusion. But there’s no _time_.

If Sylvanas goes after her sister now, both Jaina and Liadrin will be alone. If she escorts Jaina to the diner, she’ll lose Liadrin in the snow. It’s possible the woman could make the eight-block round trip in her condition, but not likely. She _will not_ send Jaina after Liadrin while she runs on foot for Vereesa, not with the other elf’s blasted intoxication.

Chasing after Liadrin means Jaina will need to come too, but at least she’ll be able to keep an eye on her.

“Sylvanas? I can barely see her, we’ve got to do _something_.”

_Damn it all._

She tells herself that Vereesa has Rhonin. He’ll look after her, or gods help him. And she won’t abandon Liadrin, who has neither a gun nor the current ability to use one.

 _Alleria could have stopped her_ , her traitorous mind whispers.

Guilt and fury claw at her chest as she takes Jaina by the hand and follows Liadrin out the door.

-

Sylvanas was right, she knows that. Struggling outside in this whiteout, in her condition, is idiocy. That scrap of wisdom isn’t enough to stop the pulse pounding in her chest that cries _you left her, you left her, you left her_.

It doesn’t matter that Valeera left first. It doesn’t even matter that the younger woman doesn’t care. The moment Nathanos said _dragging them out of homes_ , she couldn’t stop seeing that happen to her. So when she surfaced from her terror-fueled inaction and Sylvanas made it plain she meant to stop her, she bolted.

It’s hard going, the wind nearly a physical force. The houses that loom to either side of her are absent any activity. Some of their doors hang open, banging in the storm. She doesn’t want to think about what that means, especially when she spots red smeared in wide swathes outside one of those gaping entrances.

Whoever _they_ are, they’re not all coming from the south.

A street away, there’s a crunch and a shriek that rises and rises until it cuts off abruptly. She makes a small, choked sound and pushes herself into a stumbling jog. Her trembling legs make it another half block like that before she overestimates her balance and goes sprawling in the snow.

The powder stings her face, her neck where it finds a way under her collar. Liadrin slams a fist into the ground. The _one_ day she let herself have an escape, the world proved it to be the worst decision. She’s useless like this, more than before.

She pushes at the snow with one shaky arm, willing herself to stand. Before she can recover on her own, a hand grips her shoulder and hauls her upright.

The world sways, and when it rights itself she’s staring into Sylvanas’ flinty eyes.

She waits for the reprimand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the visibly incensed woman presses her into the back seat of the police car she must have followed with. The blast of the heater burns every inch of skin she has exposed.

Jaina glances at her from the passenger side, giving her an approximation of a smile. The driver door closes soon after, and Sylvanas drives without looking back.

“We’ll get her, Liadrin. But if you get us killed with a lack of care I will _haunt_ you, do you understand?”

She wants to cry that careful isn’t _fast_ enough, but Sylvanas has a point. And she hadn’t expected her to follow, but here she is.

“...Thank you.”

“We weren’t about to leave you,” Jaina says quietly.

The human’s face is pale in the rearview, mouth still quivering, but there’s steel in her gaze that says she means it. Liadrin nods tersely, unable to express her gratitude when her heart is still racing.

The speed Sylvanas coasts at is barely faster than her mad dash down the street. Out the window, another fire burns up the road north to the college.

Liadrin is beyond grateful that whatever else might be happening, they make it to her stoop without incident. She’s out the door before Sylvanas can finish parking on the street.

There’s something wrong with her house, but it takes her a second look and several seconds to notice. Mostly because she doesn’t want to. When the discrepancy solidifies, she sees her living room window has become a gaping hole with sharp edges. Snow rushes in through the new entrance.

She staggers closer and, unwilling to waste time trying to force her clumsy hands to use her key, she pulls herself up and through the breach. What glass remains on the sill leaves shallow scrapes along her stomach through the jacket, but she barely registers the sting.

Uncoordinated and half-delirious with fear, she runs full tilt into her couch. It knocks the wind out of her, but she keeps going. No blood, thank the _gods_ no blood, but no sign of the younger woman either.

In her haste to get down the hall she misses Sylvanas’ warning hiss, or the other elf helping Jaina through the window. Her only focus is on pushing her way forward in the dark, abandoning stealth entirely as she tries to run.

“Valeera!”

Finally, her ears catch something. From her room, a small, hiccuping: “Liadrin?”

She almost crumples then and there with the force of her relief.

The door to her room lies open, and she doesn’t hesitate to barge through. On first glance it’s empty, forcing her to wonder if she might have been hallucinating through sheer force of hope.

Then a muffled sound comes from under the double bed. She drops to her knees in a heartbeat.

“Valeera...?”

Hands reach out and she doesn’t hesitate to take them, pulling the younger woman out and up. Valeera stays on the floor, folding her knees into her chest.

They’re both shaking too much for Liadrin to make out her expression. As relieved as she is, she breaks first.

“Are you hurt?”

“Someone was _in here_. They didn’t see me but the noises they were making, I...I... You came back.” Valeera’s cracked voice trembles with so much vulnerability it aches.

Someone was here, someone could have _hurt her_ , she could...she could have... She doesn't take her eyes off the shivering elf, as if she might vanish the moment she looks away.

“Of course. Of course I did. There are – someone’s attacking, or–” The room swims, and she shakes her head violently. “Something bad is happening. We have to...get somewhere. Quickly. Everything’s...it’s bad.”

Amazingly, Valeera lets out a wet chuckle.

“You’re still hammered aren’t you? And you still...” She looks up, maybe searching Liadrin’s face, maybe just trying to get her bearings. She doesn’t know how to handle Valeera looking at her as if she needs her, not right now.

Sylvanas and Jaina come rushing in, then. The other elf has her gun drawn, only lowering it when she registers the two of them on the floor.

“I’m glad to see you safe, Sanguinar. Now get dressed in something proper.”

“So Proudmoore found her way home.” There’s a smirk in Valeera’s voice, but it’s clear her heart isn’t in it. “Move where, exactly? Can’t your posse just arrest whoever?”

“They’re a little beyond arresting,” Sylvanas replies, bone dry. “We’ll regroup at the diner, but we have to be quick. Liadrin, your gun. Is it here?”

“My – yes, it’s...”

Liadrin gestures at the safe resting on her bedside table, but makes no move towards it. 

“Come _on_ ,” Sylvanas seethes. “The combination.”

Liadrin tells her, and she ushers Jaina into the room and away from the doorway before going to enter it.

“It’s loaded?”

“Yes,” she manages. Valeera is the one trying to catch _her_ eye now, but she just...can’t. Sylvanas takes the gun, tucking it into her belt opposite the first.

“Then we’re leaving in two minutes. Sanguinar, get _dressed_. Jacket, shoes, gloves, _hurry_.”

She does, rifling through Liadrin’s closet while Sylvanas watches the hall. Liadrin gets shakily to her feet, sinking onto the bed for a moment with her head in her hands.

She should be _thinking_ , about the town and their position and how on earth they’re going to resolve this, but the floor is unsteady beneath her feet and she can’t manage much beyond _she’s safe_ and _am I_ _dreaming?_

-

It doesn’t take long to get to the diner. Less than twenty minutes. It’s the worst twenty minutes of Valeera’s life.

They exit the house with Sylvanas taking point. Valeera perks up the slightest bit when she spots the car.

“Don’t suppose I can call shotgun?”

Sylvanas flicks an ear at her, about what she expects.

Another car comes racing up the street, and at first she’s so blinded by the headlights she doesn’t know what she’s seeing. The picture clears in time for her to watch someone chase down that car and land on the roof, then reach down and _punch a hole_ in it, causing it to swerve into a house across the street.

Valeera looks on, transfixed, as Sylvanas starts running over – then stops cold when the car-puncher breaks through the passenger-side window in one blow and drags someone out. _Then_ car-puncher bites into their neck, what looks like all the way through to bone.

Sylvanas shoots at the attacker once, twice. As far as Valeera can tell they hit, but the figure only looks up, displaying its gore-splattered teeth in warning, and resumes eating. Fuck her, it’s _eating_.

More of... _those_ round the corner in the distance, too fast to be normal. Sylvanas takes one last shot at the thing, then dashes full tilt back to their ragtag group. She practically _leaps_ into Jaina, pushing the human behind her car so strongly they crash into the snow.

She hauls Valeera and Liadrin down too, ducking low and holding up a finger. They huddle there, the four of them, and Valeera doesn’t have a line of sight but she can hear a car door slam open.

Then, pleading. And more of what she’d heard hiding under the bed, a shriek like razor blades and squealing.

Jaina claps one hand over an ear – is the other in her _pocket?_ – as the begging becomes more and more frantic. It ends with a gurgle and a snap. Something drags down the street, heading the way the unlucky car came from.

Fuck. _Fuck_. If she thinks about it she’ll freeze, so Valeera shoves it all down the way she does everything else. Tries to, anyway. Those screams are still ringing in her ears.

They move on foot at Sylvanas’ hissed instruction. Hurrying by, Valeera can’t take her eyes off the path of blood leading in the other direction.

The storm steals a lot of the sounds coming from other parts of town, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Sylvanas is careful to pull them aside when it needs doing. She also doesn’t try to help anyone beyond that first casualty. Her shoulders stiffen more for every person they leave behind.

They make it to the diner, probably thanks to that. The stupid wooden whale on the roof always made Valeera scoff on a good day, but seeing it now she could kiss it. She takes half a step to Liadrin, needing reassurance, then remembers all over again she doesn’t have that right anymore. Her arms curl around her own midsection instead.

Sylvanas speaks into her walkie, hushed.

“I’m outside, I have three with me.”

They aren’t kept waiting long. The door flings open, and they’re ushered into a room that’s actually _warm_. Valeera hasn’t been warm since she left Liadrin’s bed this morning.

There are a number of others, but it’s a bit too dark to make out the ones huddled at the edges of the room. Someone – a human cop – rushes forward to clap the lieutenant on the shoulder.

“I knew it,” he rasps. “I knew you’d make it.”

“Nathanos.” Sylvanas holds his arm in a brief grip. “Same to you.”

Genn Greymane, the old buzzkill, paces forward to loom over them.

“What took you so long? Do you not understand the severity of the situation?”

“She was picking up a stray,” Valeera bites right back. Not being dead inclines her to be generous. “Or was _my_ situation not severe enough for you.”

He rumbles, but steps back. “Then I’m glad our lieutenant was able to be of some use.”

“Grey– _captain_. How many are here?” Sylvanas grinds out his rank, vibrating with barely restrained tension.

He sighs, long and deep. “With the four of you we number seventeen.”

“My sister?”

“Not among us.”

Valeera only catches the shaky exhale because of her proximity. Greymane, if he notices, pays it no mind.

“Now that we’re all here, we can make for the middle school. Large, fortifiable, and warm once we get the generator running.”

Sylvanas breaths in sharply. Right, her sister teaches at the school. Lives near it. Shit, she never wants to know how that feels.

“No,” the elf says, to Valeera’s surprise. “They’re north of us already. Working from the edges of town in, being systematic. Make no mistake, they will find us tonight unless we have a place to hide.”

“And do you know of such a place, lieutenant?”

Ugh, the _protocol_. She knows why, knows whoever’s left in this dark, sad diner needs to see their police sticking to the norm. Probably why Liadrin, who’d been slurring her words earlier, is very carefully saying nothing.

“Not as yet, but we remain undiscovered for the time being. I suggest we take the time to _think_.”

While Greymane bristles, Valeera’s sharp eyes adjust to the darkness enough to make out one squat figure by the far window. Oh now, there’s an idea.

“Uhh, actually,” she says, not flinching from all the eyes that snap to her. “If that weasel Jastor has his key on him, we can go to his place.”

“What’s the use in going to Gallywix’s establishment?” Greymane dismisses. Meanwhile, the goblin in the corner visibly cringes.

“He has a secret room, didn’t you know? On account of the contraband and all.”

Gallywix yelps. “Bleeding hell, Sanguinar, don’t think I won’t fire you!”

“If we both live through this, unemployment will be the _least_ of my problems. I was on my way out anyway.”

Liadrin tries to turn, stumbles, and catches herself on a small table. Valeera avoids looking back.

“Is this true?” Sylvanas rounds on Gallywix. “You have a place that’s hidden?”

“Yeah, true, and enough to fit the lot, but I want assurances!” her former employer haggles.

“Be _assured_ , wretch, that I will throw you out that door myself if you do not prove hospitable.”

Valeera’s never seen Sylvanas really angry. Annoyed, snappish for sure, but like this? Makes her almost appreciative, if she had the capacity for it.

Instead she’s just fighting to stay grounded, because she keeps flashing back to the screaming. Ripping. The blood in the street, and everyone they passed that could have been her.

Gallywix shrinks in the corner.

“Alright, alright, no need for threats. Sure, I’ve got the key. Could stay in there all snug as long as we wanted.”

“Good,” Sylvanas sneers, dismissing him instantly. “Now, I’ve a quick detour to make. I’ll meet the rest of you there.”

“Wait!” Jaina blurts out. “It’s too far, let someone help you.”

Valeera watches the human reach blindly for Sylvanas in the dark and feels a pinch of sympathy. Sylvanas quickly finds her hands, folding them into hers while the small crowd looks on in confusion.

“And bring someone else on such a selfish errand? I won’t be long, but time's wasting.”

“I want her to be safe too, you know I do. But I need you to promise me. _Promise_ me you’ll be back, Sylvanas, I...”

“You know I’m too clever to die," Sylvanas says, with absolutely no self-awareness. "So are you, Jaina. Don't forget that. I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

She takes Liadrin’s gun, then, pressing it gently into Jaina’s hands despite the woman’s protests.

The _her_ Jaina referred to is probably the cop’s sister, and damn if that isn’t a distance when it’s raining cannibals. _Are_ they cannibals? Most of the bodies in the street were whole, so–

Valeera cuts that line of thinking right off, swallowing heavily.

She can make out the elf carding a hand through Jaina’s hair. It would be obnoxious, if there weren’t _seventeen people_ left here with one of them going on a suicide mission. She swallows around the bitter taste in her mouth.

Sylvanas has to be smart enough to know she’s maybe lying about coming back, but she puts on a real good show. It’s enough to make Valeera wish it were true. She’s never disliked the flippant officer and, well. Apparently most of the town she’d tried to run away from is either gone or soon to be gone. It would suck to lose one of the only people she can tolerate.

“Where do you think you’re going, lieutenant?”

Greymane, again. Of all the people to be stuck with.

Sylvanas opens the door carefully, not bothering to look over her shoulder to reply.

“To get my sister. _Captain_.”

Then she’s gone.

|||||

_North Shore Police Station, Holding_

When his queen sweeps into the building, the relief is rapturous. She glides over to him, staring contemptuously down through the bars of his cell.

“Servant,” she greets in that marvelous voice, both inside his head and out. “You understand why I am displeased?”

He shakes his head, incapable of lying to her. Truthfully, he doesn’t understand at all. His entire being is dedicated to her. Everything he’s done since that day on the coast has been in her name. How has he misstepped?

“Mistress, I’ve done everything you asked. They can’t leave, they can’t communicate–”

“And _I_ cannot proceed,” his queen croons as shadows weave around her wondrous form. “You were so careless in your destructive spree you forgot my orders were to spare the digging machines. You _did_ forget, didn’t you, Stormsong? Or did you disobey.”

Cloying regret envelops him. To have failed her in such a way, she who is so gracious and noble...

“I would _never_ disobey you, your radiance. It was my own folly. I was too zealous in my effort to carry out your wishes.” He pushes on, anxious under her considering, consuming gaze. “Forgive me, I beg of you. I can still do more, anything you ask.”

“Oh,” she sighs, “I think you’ve done quite enough. I was meant to have the entire month to seek, to grasp the power that would allow me to bring my gift to the world once more, and _now_...”

Trailing off, she extends a long, perfect arm to break the lock off his cell. So close to her, able to drown in her magnificence once more, he falls to his knees.

“You were only a fisherman when I found you and promised you the world.” His queen meets him on the floor, spearing his ardent look with her own infinite one. “So much potential I saw, then.”

“Then you will still...save me?”

She strokes a hand over his cheek, petting him indulgently. A brilliant smile lights her dark face, full lips parting over fangs stained red.

“Yes, I suppose I did promise that. I might even have let you join us in the end. But you’ll find that in earning my displeasure there is no power now that can save you from _me_.”

The last thing he sees is her beautiful face drawing nearer as the hand at his jaw clamps down and tears.

|||||

Vereesa doesn’t know how long she’s been balled up in the cupboard. She does know the sharp smells of dish soap and detergent aren’t nearly enough to drown out the biting reminder of Rhonin’s blood.

There were two of them. Both could have been elves, in another lifetime. They had the ears, and the long brows. But the teeth like daggers, the _eyes_...

The first one stole Rhonin’s body. Just...dragged it off, once it was finished with him. The second tried to do the same to her. Once it was...dealt with...she’d taken a single look out the broken kitchen window and scrambled under her sink, the closest shelter.

There were more, and they were hunting. The gun saved her life, but she maybe wishes it hadn’t.

He’d still been alive when she ran down the stairs. When she flew into the kitchen. He’d locked eyes with her, just for a second and then – gone.

Now, she hears footsteps in the house again, light and careful. Strange, the others who prowled in... _after_ were loud, not trying to hide. This predator is cautious.

Well, fine. There’s only one. She can at least kill one more of these things for what they did to Rhonin.

She waits for it to exit the kitchen, so she can get a clear shot without being mauled. Instead, she hears the heavy sound of something falling to the floor.

“I should have come here first.” A voice, low and wretched. “I should have come here _first_ , damn me.”

Sylvanas...?

She cracks the cupboard open to see her sister, kneeling by his – by the blood, and the body of the beast oozing its own black ichor, looking so despondent Vereesa’s heart would break for her if it wasn’t already broken.

Her greeting sticks in her throat, exiting as a sob. Sylvanas doesn’t even stand, just scrambles on hands and knees across the filthy floor until she can help Vereesa out of her hiding place.

“Vereesa!”

She’s instantly enveloped in a clutch so tight it’s painful, but she doesn’t try to pull away. Not now, not when it feels as though the only thing keeping her howling grief from consuming her are Sylvanas’ arms.

“Why...why are you here?”

“I would not abandon you for the world.” Her sister kisses the top of her head. She hasn’t done that in years. It’s enough for her to start sobbing all over again.

“Rhonin’s gone, he was right here and that, that...it just tore him apart and I couldn’t do _anything_.”

“You _survived_. Do not discount that. I’m so sorry, little sister, but if we’re to continue to survive we need to leave. Now.”

Sylvanas draws back and lifts something – her radio – from her belt.

“Nathanos, I have her. Confirm your location.”

So the whole police force is involved. Something so serious, and she didn't know until it was too late.

“ _Sanguinar was right, the scum had a back room after all. Can you make it?_ ”

Sylvanas doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

-

Minutes later, the Windrunners inch their way down the street shoulder to shoulder. It’s not far to Gallywix’s beach-side abode, but all around them the chaos grows. Vereesa’s so, so grateful schools are closed until the sun returns. Most of the children are far away from this nightmare.

Most, but not all. She wavers at the reminder, stumbling against a car with a dull _thunk_.

A responding shriek bursts from the house on the right before something comes sprinting out the open door.

She has time to think _this one looks like an elf too...?_ before it has her by the arm of her jacket. There’s a cry from her left, a furious denial, and then Sylvanas _barrels_ into it.

Instead of taking precious time to line up a shot, her sister’s trying to _grapple_ the thing. She hooks a finger into one pitch-black eye, dodging a wild swing from a clawed hand. She’s equal parts ferocious and frantic.

“Vereesa, _shoot it!_ ”

She does. It shakes off the shot to the chest like it’s nothing, and she remembers the one that came at her while she was wailing over a pool of blood in her kitchen. That one, she’d shot in the head.

She extends this one the same courtesy, ruining one uncannily elven ear with the first shot and putting two in its forehead with her next attempts.

As the corpse falls, vertigo rises so quickly she stumbles. Sylvanas, after flailing to maintain balance, finds her feet and runs to catch her.

“Sorry,” Vereesa mumbles into her sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just, I can’t...”

“Don’t apologize for saving us.” Sylvanas pats her for the second time that day, then quirks a brow. “You’ve turned out to be quite the marksman.”

A myriad of emotions flow through her – anger, disbelief, shock – but she settles on gratitude. Sylvanas is helping in maybe the only way she can, by distracting her. And it works, because she finds she can straighten up again.

Together, they struggle up the north road.

|||||

After the door closes behind Sylvanas, no one speaks at first. Jaina tucks the gun beneath her coat with unsteady hands. She can't even _use_ it, but looking around she supposes it's not as if anyone in the room who doesn't already have one can either.

She watches the entrance, frozen, as if ‘soon’ could be any second now.  A pair of arms around her waist interrupt her vigil.

“Jaina! I’m _so_ glad to see you, the professor drove me home but I didn’t know where you were!”

Kinndy. Her friend from the lab. Here, now.

For the first time tonight, Jaina lets her tears fall while doing her best to return the embrace.

“I’m glad too, I didn’t know... I didn’t know if anyone...”

Her shoulders shake, as much as she tries to stop them. 

“Jaina?” Someone else pushes forward, though she can’t make out features until they’re right in front of her.

“Pained! You’re here!”

“Of course, it’s my shift after all.” The night elf pulls off a shaky shrug. “Don’t know if I wish I’d left early or not.”

She’s so relieved to hear familiar voices she could buckle. As she looks around, she spots others.

Velonara and Anya, elves she’s come to know from their acquaintance with Sylvanas. Alina, more aloof but still a friendly face. And others: a volunteer at the fire station, someone who works with Pained at the diner...but still so _few_.

“We can’t rely on Windrunner, no surprise there.” Genn interjects, placing one large hand on the door. “We should focus on heading to this...secret room, if we’re sure this information is accurate.”

 _We’ll be able to count on her when she gets back_ , Jaina wants to protest. It would be so easy to rail against Genn, but it won’t help anything. Sylvanas made her decision. She needs to trust it will work.

“Oh, it’s accurate. I’ve been there,” Valeera says.

It doesn’t surprise her that the elf is involved with, what had she said, contraband? It must surprise Liadrin though, because she moves the table she’s leaning on a solid foot across the floor. The resulting scrape is so loud everyone flinches.

Jaina lays an arm on the table, leaning close to whisper: “Can you walk?”

Liadrin’s ears drop all the way down. From what Jaina’s been able to glean, that signals misery. She understands; that’s the thread running through the whole evening.

“I can,” the elf declares in spite of it. “I’ll _make_ myself.”

Slipping a hand into her coat pocket, Jaina runs her thumb over the smooth, thrumming circle of the artifact from the lab. It’s almost a worry-stone for her now, with all the times she’s reached for it on instinct this last terrible hour.

Genn and Nathanos are arguing quietly next to the door, but she never wrests her attention from the quailing group further in. Not many, but they’re _here_. There has to be a way to keep all of them alive.

Genn clears his throat, marking a decision being reached.

“Listen up! We’re moving to Gallywix’s house. I’m heading out first, everyone follow. Officer Marris will watch the rear.”

The crowd murmurs, but move closer to the door. Jaina looks to Pained and Kinndy, and swallows her nerves. Sylvanas said they’d meet in Gallywix’s hideaway, so they will. No other outcome makes sense.

They hurry out as a group, Genn mounting a furious pace once they clear the steps. Jaina looks over her shoulder just the once, to see multiple fires blazing across the bridge to the south.

The snow hinders them, fat flakes hitting like a bombardment of cold fire. They manage though, shuffling carefully northward. Gunshots sound more frequently now, as close as a block away.

Kinndy sniffles; Jaina takes her hand and squeezes. Between the guns and the noises erupting further south, she’s terribly afraid for Sylvanas.

She wants her to bring Vereesa back, of course she does. The younger Windrunner is one of the few who tolerate her enthusiasm for research, but more than that she’s been such a good friend this past year. She wants to see her safe very badly, Rhonin too.

Still, as the group makes its way past the remaining houses and to the beach, she remembers the earlier walk from Liadrin’s. How they watched someone be pulled from the safety of their car and _butchered_. If Sylvanas and her brilliant aim couldn’t stop that, how can the elf hope to run to the other side of town and come back?

A hideous shriek sounds close behind, spurring them on.

Jaina turns in time to see Gallywix shove past Velonara at the end of their train, sending her sprawling. She’s about to run back, help her up, when a dark silhouette leaps out and battens onto the struggling elf. She takes another unconscious step in that direction, like a sleepwalker.

“Proudmoore.” To her surprise, Valeera doubles back to tug at her urgently. “She’s gone, come on. Can’t stop moving now.”

Stifling a sob, she follows. The rest of them escape into the storm, Pained of all people dragging Liadrin along. Velonara’s cries are short-lived.

Jaina clenches her hand around the artifact in her pocket, and doesn’t look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd here we go.
> 
> Alternate name for this chapter: everyone loses at hide-and-seek.  
> Hopefully this wasn’t too muddled, a lot sure did happen. And this was supposed to be a short one... As always, critique is welcome because this is like trying to remember how to mountain bike instead of just rollin down the street. I'll likely make some edits tomorrow if I catch anything but I want really this posted, 5am be darned.
> 
> Next one might take longer, but I’ll try to get it out timely-adjacent. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina makes progress. Valeera makes an effort. Several other people make mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took longer than I wanted it to, but here we are. Shoutout to Torch, who helped brainstorm and watched three (3!!) Resident Evil movies with me because I wanted to look at explosions. Thanks dude <3
> 
> Okay, happy halfway everyone! I’m...sorry?

Clustered together in the dusty room, no one speaks.

Some have claimed crates for seats, over Gallywix’s protests. Others scrunch into balls on the floor, shivering. They can’t risk the generator, not now. Kinndy really wishes they could, because even doing her best to shrink into her jacket isn’t cutting out the merciless cold.

Two more of them are gone, now. The worst part might be that no one _saw_ them die, they just...never made it here. Like the storm swallowed them up.

At least the room turned out to be secret after all, hidden behind a bookcase that doubles as a door at the back of Gallywix’s combined house and shop. There’s even a back exit, part of the wall that swings up. It’s like being dropped into a mystery novel. Any other time she’d be excited, but she can’t really muster the energy.

 _Contraband_ turned out to mean alcohol, boxes and boxes of it stacked high. The captain says it’s off limits, but he can’t really expect that to last. Not when half the room is one sneeze away from hysteria. Heck, maybe she is too. The other half just sits in silence, shell-shocked. The police aren’t doing much better, standing by the entry points without really focusing on anything.

This shack might be on the edge of town, but they can still hear enough. A little while ago, there were church bells ringing somewhere to the left. They didn’t last long. Even the screams are starting to die off, but the occasional gunfire never really stops. The frequency doesn’t make it easier not to flinch at the sound.

“What _are_ they?” a human whispers from where he’s huddled against a crate.

They’ve been here for over an hour, but no one wanted to be the first to ask. It’s obvious whatever their attackers are they’re not, well, normal. Normal people can’t – _drag the landlady down the stairs, tearing into her until she stops whimpering_ – can’t do what these things do.

“Drug-addled lunatics,” Greymane asserts.

The blond elf who spoke up in the diner – _Val?_ – scoffs. “Bullshit. They _drink blood_. You all saw it, right? That’s not drugs.”

“What are you suggesting?” He levels a warning look across the room. “This isn’t a bad fairy tale, Sanguinar.”

“No,” Liadrin agrees, soft, “it’s a nightmare. All of their teeth are fangs, Genn.”

“I won’t entertain this, officer. You’ll incite panic.”

Liadrin’s ears flick back, but she doesn’t argue.

The blonde doesn’t have the same reservations. “It’s _inciting_ common sense. I saw – saw them rip people apart. That’s not happening to me.” She looks around the room, boots drumming lightly against the floor. “What do we _know?_ ”

“They’re fast,” Kinndy volunteers, remembering how little time it took for her building to be overrun.

The other cop, Sylvanas’ friend, speaks up. “Abnormally strong. Broke down the station door like plywood.” His dark eyes are deeply shadowed.

More people start to offer up stories, tentative and hushed like this is a funeral. In a way, she guesses it kind of is. It’s easy to tune out, since they all have the same thread.

 _my friend – my dad – my boss – my neighbor_...

She looks around for Jaina, who hasn’t said anything since they arrived. The human sits slumped against the far wall. Her eyes flit between the door and the sample from the lab held in her hands, which glows on and off with that weird blue light.

It’s its own kind of frightening, the way Jaina doesn’t look all there. While the others talk in circles, Kinndy inches over and takes a careful seat next to her.

“Hey, Jaina?”

Dull blue turns to her, but she still doesn’t speak.

“This is probably terrible timing, I mean of course it is, but um. Before Antonidas drove me back he gave me some of his research. He said to give it to you, if I saw you first, and here you are so...” Her dumb mouth. “Maybe we could look at it together?”

“Kinndy...”

“I know, okay? But maybe just tell me what we know so far?”

Jaina sighs, but gives in. She holds up the small stone.

“We know the carvings on it are a language. We know speaking that language causes it to light up, but only under the right initial conditions. We don’t know _enough_ of the language to do anything else. Is that enough, Kinndy?”

Her friend still isn’t looking at her, but somewhere over her head. The door again. She needs to keep Jaina talking, so neither of them have to think about other stuff. How long that can last if Sylvanas doesn’t come back, well, she’ll cross that river later.

“Well, so. The professor was – _is_ , also working on the cipher, you know, he thought we could finish right after the break probably.” If her rambling has one positive, it’s that Jaina at least appears to be listening. “So like I said, I have his notes, and I thought, well... What else are we going to do?”

Gallywix gives them a dirty look from where he presides over crates full of gleaming bottles. “Keep those mouths shut, ladies. Do you want the beasties to kill us all?”

“Take your own advice,” Pained threatens from where she and Liadrin are talking quietly across the room. Her stance is so aggressive that Gallywix does, amazingly, leave off. Kinndy sends silent thanks to her friend.

Jaina tears her eyes from the door, relenting and taking the sheaf of crumpled paper with a flicker of interest. Together, they begin to read.

-

Pained is already done with comparing notes, especially when someone points out every one of _them_ is a night elf, and all eyes land on her as if she’s going to sprout more fangs. She steps past a human who was shrinking away from her anyway, and goes to sit by the elf she recognizes from the diner earlier in the day.

“You’re the waitress,” the cop greets. “From before. One of Jaina’s friends?”

“That I am. Pained.” She extends a hand, and the other elf grips it.

“Liadrin. Thanks for earlier.”

“Not kicking you out, or helping you walk?”

“Both.” She winces. “I think all that’s starting to wear off now, thankfully.”

Pained’s mouth creases in sympathy. “You’re in for a rough time of it.”

“Nothing I didn’t have coming.” Liadrin rubs at her temple, frowning. “If I had just done my job, maybe...”

“Don’t think anything could have stopped this.” Especially not one woman with a gun, but she can tell Liadrin doesn’t see it that way right now. “To hear Kinndy talk, if Greymane hadn’t picked her up she’d...well.”

It’s uncertain if that makes Liadrin feel better or worse, but in Pained’s opinion everyone crammed into this dark room is lucky to be here. If _lucky_ can apply to anyone in this town anymore.

Gallywix, that bloated toad, says something disparaging to Kinndy while she tries to distract Jaina. She snaps a retort, staring him down until he looks away. He’s been a thorn in everyone’s side since they secured themselves here. As if anyone cares about his boxes of wine or whatever else. It would be easier to break one of those bottles over his head than be subjected to more posturing.

Wasting time thinking about the goblin is only giving her a headache, so she turns back to her conversation partner. “So, officer. You always drink warm whiskey?”

Liadrin lifts a shoulder. “Only on special occasions.”

Sanguinar darts glances at them from her perch on a trio of crates. Pained waits to make eye contact and raises an eyebrow, but the blonde only shrugs and looks away. Fine then.

“What was special about today?”

“I suppose...” She sighs, long and deep. “I suppose, learning what a fool I am.”

An ear dips, questioning. “You don’t strike me as a fool.”

“Get to know me.”

Self-deprecation doesn’t suit this woman, somehow. Pained leans in, conspiratorial. “Tell you what, we survive the night and I’ll make you a real drink. To spite Jastor, of course.”

That earns her a ghost of a smile. “Of course.”

The conversation lapses into a more lenient quiet, until finally a bustling comes from the building’s entrance. Everyone freezes, apprehensive until Marris’ radio sounds.

“ _It’s us,_ ” Sylvanas rasps. She sounds utterly exhausted, but _alive_. Thank goodness for that much.

Jaina jolts, nearly dropping her glowing rock. Kinndy helps her up while Marris clears the entrance and begins shoving the bookcase to one side. The moment they’re through, Jaina stumbles stiffly forward and wraps Sylvanas in a death grip.

“Didn’t I tell you?” the elf murmurs. Despite her words, she’s covered in blood from the knees down. And something else, something darker. That doesn’t deter Jaina from squeezing as close as possible.

Behind them, the younger Windrunner watches the reunion with an indecipherable expression. Her face lightens a fraction when Jaina draws her into a tight hug too.

“Windrunner,” Greymane acknowledges. “What’s the situation outside?”

Vereesa shakes in Jaina’s hold while Sylvanas tugs at her own hair, agitated. “Unsalvageable.”

She keeps her voice low, but it sets off a chorus of whispers among the elves who hear.

Greymane leans in. “Are you _certain_.” It’s more order than question.

Sylvanas parts her lips, waits. Tries again, loud enough for everyone to hear this time. “Nothing can be done tonight. Our best option is to lay low and wait this out.”

Pained digs stiff fingers into her legs. More likely that means waiting to die, unless these things decide to leave. But stranger things have happened. Like them arriving in the first place.

Liadrin seems to read the mood, straightening up to address the frightened group. “A good plan, for now. This is our town; they won’t find us easily. We can reassess our options when the storm dies down.”

She projects level calm, so steady it settles the room. Even Pained almost believes it’s not just a better deflection. The talk turns to sleeping, and whether they should keep watch. Greymane calls for volunteers.

“I can do it,” Vereesa starts, but the elder Windrunner waves her off.

“No need, get some sleep. Nathanos, with me?”

“Naturally.”

A blankness steals over Vereesa’s face for a moment, there and gone. Then she sits down with Jaina and Kinndy, and the others start to settle in for the night.

-

_November 23 rd_

Gunshots sound with less and less frequency. Jaina dearly hopes the rest of the town is just hiding, like them, and not...not dead.

One of the vampires – so labelled against Genn’s vehement protests – had broken through into the storefront yesterday, tossing the place. Jaina had held her breath, hand gripped tightly in Sylvanas’, but it hadn’t touched the bookcase. The incident has everyone back on edge though, after the mostly uneventful second and third days.

Kinndy’s asleep next to her, but Jaina’s wide awake and muttering to herself. They’ve refined the shifts, now. Always one officer and a partner. Tonight it’s Nathanos and Jaina, though the man made it clear he doesn’t expect or want her help.

The dismissal only bothers her a little. Now that her eyes have finally adjusted to the dark, she’s having more luck reading by the light of her artifact. The _lab’s_ artifact, really, but she’s come to think of it as hers. It’s doubtful there’s much of a lab left, now.

“ _...anna melor’ne ad...anu arkhana..._ ”

She traces glowing blue with a careful finger. Thanks to Antonidas and his careful illustrations, she has an idea of what the second word could be. It’s the middle that still stumps her.

It’s not as if focusing on meaningless cryptography will help a single thing, but it feels good to be doing _something_. She can’t mediate between Sylvanas, Nathanos, and Greymane, but she can puzzle out this one thing.

The sound of someone crying drifts over from the other side of the room. Jaina can relate.

She tries not to think about what might have happened to Antonidas. Like Kinndy he stays at the bed and breakfast year round, and he’s not particularly spry. If he wasn’t in the van with Genn, she’ll likely never see him again.

It’s a heavy loss. He understood her in a way none of her previous teachers had, encouraging her passion for knowledge and assuring her she was talented enough to work with him. To think he might be gone like so many others threatens to weigh her down with a crippling sorrow.

Through her blurring vision, she runs through the writing one more time.

“ _Melor’ne adala..._ ”

The script flashes a brighter blue, but remains only partially lit. Sylvanas shifts closer, still asleep, and Jaina absently runs a hand through her hair. Her long ears are freezing, so she tugs the jacket higher above her shoulders.

By the low light, she stares at Antonidas’ speculation until her eyes burn. The curving script that runs along the bottom of the stone brings to mind another part, if she could just...extrapolate...

“ _Sh...anna? Melor’ne adala...al..._ ”

Damn it but she _almost_ knows the last spiky line. She shouldn’t wake Kinndy, her friend needs to sleep as much as any of them, but she’s so _close_.

The quiet sniffling of the crying woman by the back exit turns slowly to faint sobbing, along with fragments of words. Something about...going home. It hasn’t sunk in for most of them that there’s no home to go back to.

Jaina has a home. Across the ocean, near her family. She wishes all of them could be there now, away from this bad dream.

She shakes the gnome beside her gently, carefully. They’re all easily startled now, and none of them can risk a loud noise.

“Huh...?” Kinndy squirms deeper into the layers surrounding her. “Are they fighting again?”

Their police force has been at such odds it’s no surprise that’s Kinndy’s first assumption.

“Not yet. I had–” It sounds so stupid now. “I had a question about part of this writing, if you’re up for it?”

Nathanos glares sharply from his vigil by the front entrance, but when no one else stirs she feels justified in sending him an apologetic wave and nothing else.

“Should’ve known you’d take a distraction to its illogical extreme.” The smile in her friend’s voice belies the words. “Yeah, I’ll take a look. Where’re you at now?”

Jaina points out the word she’s solved a segment of. “This one here. I’m sure I’ve seen it before, but I don’t think it’s a part of any of our samples. Any ideas?”

“Ohh.” Kinndy’s face manages to be both smug and sheepish. “That’s on me, I think. That there was part of the one you let me drop acid on. It’s an _f_ , probably.”

“Kinndy!” Jaina grips her arm, exhaustion and elation elevating her to punch-happy. “If you’re right, hang on – _shanna melor'ne adala fal anu'arkhana_?”

The stone pulses in her hand, flaring with a light that runs along the etchings until the whole winding script is illuminated. It continues to thrum with foreign energy, soundless but very present.

Sylvanas makes a soft noise on her other side, unconsciously moving closer to the relic. Her ears lean forward, then relax slowly as the energy fades. The light stays though, finally a complete circuit.

She and Kinndy stare at each other across the glow, wonder and shock spreading across their faces. She can’t believe it. After so much trial and error, so many nights spent at the lab, they’ve gotten one step further.

There’s barely time to drink it in before the crying woman shoots upright, dislodging the coat tugged over her.

“I can’t. I can’t be here anymore. I want to go _home!_ ”

She’s not quite shouting, but it’s still far too loud. Jaina, closer than Nathanos, hurries to quiet her. She shrugs away in wide-eyed panic, scrambling for the disguised exit and throwing herself at it. The thud gets the room stirring, but not nearly fast enough. By the time Genn lurches to his feet, the slab of wood is already swinging shut behind her.

Sylvanas half sits up, shoulders dropping when she spots Jaina and Vereesa. “What’s happened?” The elf scans the room, keen gaze landing on Nathanos.

Outside, the woman’s entreaties for home draw further away.

“She,” he begins hoarsely. “I didn’t stop her, she just ran. I...should have tackled her, at least.”

“Not your fault.” She stands, scowling, voice tight. “No accounting for fools.”

Jaina looks up, shocked. Outright callousness isn’t something Sylvanas has ever exhibited. When she sees the taut lines of her neck, she understands a little. The elf is compartmentalizing, something Jaina herself is also scarily good at.

“An officer in front of both exits at all times,” Greymane orders. “There will be no repeats.”

By now the rest of the room is up, looking around uneasily.

“Should we...do we try to bring her back?” Kinndy’s tentative, but it’s a relief that _someone_ asked.

Gallywix crosses his forearms in the universal _no_ , horrified. “Are you crazy, girl? Want to die?”

The officers exchange glances. Jaina knows what they’re thinking: no storm, no cover, just a woman making too much noise. Sylvanas breaks first, locking eyes with Liadrin before she lets out a choked sort of growl and opens the board a sliver to peer out.

“She’s nearly all the way down the street, I–” Then she hisses, moving it back into place as if burned. “Too late. Don’t listen.”

Some immediately clap hands to ears, but not Jaina. She listens to every last cry, because she didn’t move fast enough to stop it.

When it’s over Sylvanas picks up the discarded coat and pushes it on Vereesa, sharp eyes daring anyone to protest. The two descend into a hushed whispering match, both sets of ears pinned back. Sylvanas shows her teeth; Vereesa snaps a rapid rebuttal and waves a hand at the rest of the room.

The older Windrunner responds with a scathing exclamation, and finally Vereesa ends the stand-off by grabbing the coat. Sylvanas’ ears ease slowly away from her scalp, though Vereesa pulls away immediately to rearrange herself by Jaina.

“Do you mind?” She can’t look Jaina in the eye, trying and failing to be flippant. “She can be so stubborn, stealing her spot for a night is only fair.”

She’s smart enough not to try and remind her friend that Sylvanas is just looking out for her.

“I’ll be up a little longer, but if the light doesn’t bother you of course you can sleep here.”

Vereesa spreads half of the second coat over her knees as thanks, then moves under the rest and goes quiet. Jaina looks for Sylvanas and finds her talking in low tones with Nathanos. He indicates the space next to him, but she waves a hand and sits gracefully next to Anya.

Jaina waits for her to look over, trying to silently communicate a question, but she just shakes her head. Familiarity makes it easy enough to read.

_Are you okay?_

_Who knows?_

Liadrin relocates to the back exit, and Nathanos returns to the front. Jaina stares down at her glowing relic and wonders how she can still be even a little excited about this latest discovery when someone just _died_. Would it be better or worse to start getting used to all this? The room settles again, but she doubts anyone will be getting back to sleep for a while yet.

-

There’s obviously no sunrise to herald a new day, but the dust-smeared clock on the wall marks the time as early afternoon. Not that it makes a difference to anyone. What food they’re allowed isn’t doled out at normal meal times, and most of the others have been doing their best to either sleep or check out in other ways.

Valeera picks at a nail, as thrown off as she is frustrated. That lady last night checked _all_ the way out, and for what? Had she really thought she was going to make it home? They’re all insanely lucky that pulling an impromptu runner hadn’t brought the whole lot of vampires down on their heads. That’s one more lucky break down; they have to be scraping the bottom of the second chances barrel.

 _Fourteen left_...

Liadrin keeps looking over, barely subtle in a way that’s so unlike her it makes Valeera’s teeth ache. They haven’t talked since Liadrin found her quivering under her bed, but it’s been _days_ and there’s only so much she can take, so she crosses the room to sit gingerly next to her.

“What,” she snaps out, too quick. “You want to ask about Jastor, is that it? Yeah, I helped him sell some stuff on the side. Are you really surprised?”

It’s too hostile, she didn’t want to say _any_ of that, she just couldn’t help it. Liadrin doesn’t respond in kind though, and the look she meets her with is wholly spent.

“I don’t care about the goblin’s blasted alcohol,” she stresses, worn, before folding her head into her knees.

“What, then?” She knows what, of course she does. But being trapped in this room is making a bad situation worse, and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Opposite them, Sylvanas is engaged in flashing her fangs at old Greymane. That human – Marris – stands at her side as always, stoic and unflinching while they parry back and forth. Yesterday the item of contention was whether they should move locations. From the snippets she’s catching, today is about food.

Which, fair. They’re going through what Gallywix has too quickly, and the closest supermarket is at least five blocks from here. But if this bickering is what she has to look forward to for the rest of her life she might be better off burying herself in the snow.

“A _note_ , Valeera.”

Speaking of quarrels. This is worse though, because unlike Sylvanas or Greymane there’s a clear winner here. “I know, okay? What I don’t know is why you didn’t just leave me there.”

“I would never,” Liadrin whispers, muffled by her legs.

“ _Why?_ ”

“What’s the point of asking?” She lifts her head and looks back with tired eyes. Deflection is a new look on her. Valeera hates it, knows she’s earned it.

“I... Because you deserved more, is all. I’m sorry I’m not...that. More.”

Tired amber scans her, but for the life of her she doesn’t know what for.

“Was I so awful?” Liadrin finally asks, eyes trained on the floor.

 _No_. Not awful. Too damn kind, almost enough to make her think it wouldn’t all blow up in her face. Shit, but she never thought the older woman would blame _herself_. It’s obvious where the fault lies, how can Liadrin think she did anything wrong?

“You weren’t,” Valeera wrestles out.

“Then why did you just...? Without a word.”

“Come on, I left at least ten.” She’s wincing before she finishes, half at the tattered acceptance Liadrin stares her down with. Like she never expected a better answer.

It makes her want to try to give one.

“I was never going to stay.” The dumb part was, she started wanting to ask Liadrin to leave with her even knowing how it would end. Who would pack up their life for a drifter they’d known for half a year? “And you were always gonna figure out you were too good for me, so why not rip the band-aid off? Thought it’d be better that way.”

There, it’s out now. The parts that matter, anyway. Most of them.

“And?” Liadrin just keeps looking at her, face for once entirely unreadable. “Do you feel better?”

“...No.”

Silence. It hurts in exactly the way she knew it would.

When it’s broken minutes later though, she wants it back. Because it’s Greymane, and he’s telling Liadrin she’ll be the one to get food with him when the next whiteout hits. He shoulders between them to pull Liadrin aside, ignoring Valeera entirely on top of underestimating her hearing. She doesn’t even _try_ not to listen in.

“Marris is needed here, and I don’t trust Windrunner at my back. It needs to be you, Liadrin.”

“Give her a chance, Genn. You can count on her.”

Quietly, Valeera agrees. Sylvanas is probably the only reason she and Liadrin aren’t both more bodies in the snow.

“I can count on _you_. You’ve always been rational. We need that.”

 _So take Nathanos instead_ , she thinks fiercely. Liadrin would never suggest it, but fuck she wants her to. They’re only still alive through a series of flukes, and sooner or later those chances are going to run out.

Liadrin’s ear tilts in her direction, but she doesn’t turn away from Greymane. “Alright. I’ll go with you, but stop prodding her. _Try_ ,” she amends when he bristles. “She saved my life, among others. Your son was–”

This time she does turn back, before lowering her voice to something even Valeera can’t hear. Funny, she didn’t think Greymane had a son.

Now they’re being so quiet, she gives up on eavesdropping. Instead she crosses her arms and sits back, wishing Liadrin would stop being so generous just once.

-

_November 25 th_

Even with rationing, Gallywix’s meager food supply is running out. They need another storm, if they’re to have any chance of surviving a run to the nearest store. But it’s been days, and the weather stays stubbornly quiet.

Genn and Sylvanas snap quietly at each other near the back, small hand movements growing larger and more sweeping with each exchange. They’ve both taken to fashioning molotovs out of a combination of Gallywix’s collection of liquor and fuel from his generator, unphased by the goblin’s protests. Now they’re criticizing each other’s technique, which is far from the worst way they could be sniping at each other.

The situation can only get worse, though. Without enough food, enough sleep, or enough space, it won’t take long for the room to become a powder keg.

 _A storm, we need a storm,_ please _..._

A puff of snow appears around her hands, still white-knuckled around the artifact. Her knees wobble in shock, so she carefully braces herself against a wall and stares down, dumbstruck. She made snowflakes. Just a handful, hardly anything, but she _made snowflakes_.

“Wow Proudmoore, did you just solve magic?” Valeera peers around her shaking hands, reaching out to poke at the scattered flakes.

Sylvanas abruptly abandons Genn to stand next to her, looking riveted. “What did you _do_?”

Jaina slowly shakes her head, stunned. “I just – I was thinking about how much another snowstorm would help, and it just...appeared.”

“Can you do it again?” Sylvanas leans in closer, hyper-focused on the blue glow.

Vereesa also crowds near, looking for all the world as though the shining stone is the only thing in the room.

Jaina tries, but the only sign it worked in the first place are the rapidly melting snowflakes surrounding her. She sways, suddenly lightheaded.

“I don’t think so, it...it might have to do with urgency, or timing, or maybe energy...”

The rest of the room fades, and she barely notices Kinndy’s excited congratulations. Her mind is already running, flipping through possibilites. With enough time to experiment she should be able to reproduce the result. And then she...she can... Can _what_? They’re in the middle of a crisis and she’s distracted by a – a pet project? _Stupid, Jaina_.

She comes out of herself in time to watch Sylvanas shake her head rapidly, abandoning her fascination with the stone to gather Jaina in her arms.

“You’re a marvel,” she praises. From her mouth, it doesn’t seem like a lie.

“It was more of an accident than anything.” Jaina flushes, uneasy at the thought of accepting compliments _now_.

“Don’t be silly. You’re so terribly smart, and here you’ve made a breakthrough even in the middle of this mess.” Sylvanas strokes a hand up her back, affirming and grounding as Jaina relaxes into her hold. “You’re outstanding, and I...I love you, you know,” she murmurs, gentle. Just for her.

For the one moment, Jaina lets herself feel happy. “I love you too.”

The kiss they share is cold, dry, and hindered by the bulk of their coats. It’s also perfect. Wrapped in the elf’s arms, if she breathes deep and keeps her eyes closed, she can pretend things are normal. Just for a little while.

-

_November 27 th_

It’s been over a week, and between the fourteen of them they’ve eaten through what little Gallywix had to begin with. If the goblin was insufferable before, his incessant whining and caginess is driving them all to distraction. Nathanos has half a mind to suggest gagging him; Sylvanas would back him up, he knows.

The one bit of good news is that it’s finally snowing again, heavily enough that Greymane approved an excursion to the convenience store. The bad is, once their captain brought it up Vereesa wouldn’t stop trying to volunteer. He had blustered at first, but quickly lost control of the situation once Sylvanas jumped in.

“Tell me you did not approach my sister with this.”

Vereesa pushes in front of Greymane, trying to stand taller. “What if he did?”

Sylvanas swallows back an enraged cry; Greymane raises his hand. “Of course not. As I’ve been _trying_ to say, Liadrin will accompany me.”

Sylvanas settles, but Vereesa draws herself up more stiffly. Having practically grown up with them, Nathanos knows – this is not going to end well.

“I’m fast, and good with a gun. You _know_ that, Sylvanas. Why not let me come?”

If he had time and privacy, he would caution Sylvanas against being blunt. As a rule, most of her softness was always reserved for Vereesa. Now she’s trying to force that into pragmatism, adapting a mercenary approach to their safety. It’s clear Vereesa doesn’t understand, but that hasn’t gentled her approach.

He doesn’t have time to say any of that, of course. Just time enough to watch Sylvanas double down.

“ _Out of the question_. You are a _civilian_ , little sister. In any case, it’s been decided.”

“Stop _coddling_ me.” She glares up at Sylvanas, lip trembling. “I’ve killed two of them, how many have _you_ taken down?”

“I know you’re capable, Vereesa, but I want you safe–”

“ _Safe?_ No one’s safe.” Derision drips into her words as she steps into Sylvanas’ space. “How much did you know? When you told me to keep a gun ready, how much did you know?”

Nathanos can guess. Sylvanas got the same alert from Shadowsong everyone on the force did. Danger, dead dogs, a disaster. And knowing her, she wouldn’t have breathed a word of it to her sister.

“I...knew there was at least one person who posed a threat. Capable of murder, almost certainly. I could not have predicted _this_.”

“But you knew there were _murderers_ and you couldn’t have told me? If you weren’t so determined to treat me like a child, maybe Rhonin would – maybe he’d still...”

Sylvanas goes very still. Vereesa freezes too, looking more quietly shocked. She doesn’t take it back, though. Sylvanas would reject him if he tried to intervene, but watching her ears spike, drop, and finally tremble, he has to clench his fists to resist the urge.

“Perhaps you’re right.” She doesn’t say anything more. Not when Jaina hurries to her to speak softly at her rigid side, not when Vereesa finally steps to the other side of the increasingly claustrophobic room.

 _She didn’t mean it_. He opens his mouth to say it, closes it. Sylvanas doesn’t value liars.

Greymane waits at the entrance. Liadrin follows, reluctantly. He shares a look with her, concern and trepidation. Then she’s helping Genn move the shelf aside, and they’re gone.

All they can do now is wait. It’s irritating, but he doesn’t envy his fellow officers either. They’re both experienced, it’s just the... _vampires_ aren’t at all cowed by that. He sighs, searching the room to check on Sylvanas.

Proudmoore’s managed to draw her into a corner. She sits like a statue, lips pressed together so strongly they’ve gone pale. The human’s prattling on about something or other, holding up her glowing rock. It’s a wholly transparent distraction, but over time Sylvanas starts to go through the motions of interest. For the first time, he’s...grateful...for Jaina. For most people, the elf wouldn’t even pretend.

“Hey. Hey, Marris.”

He looks away from Sylvanas with reluctance, coming face to face with another scowling elf. This one is Liadrin’s something-or-other. He’d never understood that match, his steady colleague with this flighty woman.

“Something you need?”

“Yeah, wondering why the old man took Liadrin and not you.”

The actual answer would take too long to unwrap – that his loyalty has always been to Sylvanas first, that he supported her version of events and that support might have swayed Shadowsong in the end – and in any case he doesn’t owe it to this woman.

“I suppose he thought her the better choice,” he says instead.

“Look, I don’t care _what_ problem Greymane has with Sylvanas. I just wanna know he won’t get Liadrin in trouble.” She hunches her shoulders, shrinking away from her own words.

It’s strange, seeing Sanguinar emotional. He’d thought her only capable of smiles and sarcasm, but the elf is doing a poor job of cloaking her worry under her aggression. That, and the reminder she’s likely only snapping at him because Greymane isn’t here to take it instead, helps him stay patient.

“I’ve known her a long time. She’ll make it back.”

“Maybe I don’t trust that codger to take care of her.”

He _should_ tell her to hold her tongue about their captain. Greymane might even be the chief now, since no one’s heard from Shadowsong since that first day. It’s his own simmering irritation that leads him to let the jab lie. Greymane never has given Sylvanas a fair time of it, even before what happened to his son.

“She’ll make it,” he repeats. “No use worrying, girl.”

The elf gets a look, like she means to keep fighting, before whirling abruptly to sulk near Proudmoore and the glowing rock. Fine by him. Muttered complaints begin to fill the room again from where Gallywix squats next to a stack of crates. This time, it’s easy to tune out.

When they do return, it’s with one meager backpack of food between them. Liadrin’s hands are stained red, but one look is enough to know it isn’t her blood. That no one else arrives with them tells the end of that story.

He meets them hastily, helping Greymane shove their cover back in place. “What happened?”

“Clerk,” Greymane huffs. “We interrupted those monsters mid-attack, barely made it out.”

Sanguinar approaches as if both Liadrin _and_ herself were skittish animals, mumbling something low and questioning. Liadrin steps away; the blonde follows, repeating herself more emphatically. It’s effective, seemingly, because Liadrin lets herself be sat down and fussed over.

Nathanos looks on, baffled, as Sanguinar pours water from her own limited supply onto her sleeve and begins scrubbing at Liadrin’s hands in a way that could be described as _tender_. Watching feels strangely intrusive, so he moves to help the captain hand out the food. Too little.

-

_December 1 st_

It’s close to what would be morning when Gallywix starts surreptitiously moving the bookshelf aside to squeeze through into the storefront. Liadrin’s on watch, but she’s far from the only one awake. True uninterrupted sleep is starting to feel like a distant luxury.

She doesn’t know what that scheming annoyance could want out there. Leaving him to his own devices is preferable to getting up and checking on him, but, well. She remembers the store.

The clerk in the back room, gurgling around the gash in his throat. The way she’d tried to apply pressure, though she’d known it was useless. The shots Genn fired when the culprit had _still been there_ , unnoticed in the shadows at the back of the room. The sound of his gun drew more of the creatures, leaving them hardly enough time to shove a paltry number of assorted snacks into the bag before they were pursued. She’d left the young man bleeding out on the floor. She prays he died before the monsters found him again.

That can’t happen to anyone else in this town. Not even Gallywix. She sighs and catches Genn’s eye, then follows the goblin out. For whatever reason, he’s rummaging around under his bizarrely lavish counter.

“What are you doing? It’s not safe out here.”

“Making sure none of you've been looking around where you shouldn’t, is all. Need to look after my investments.”

“Unless your investments are edible, I can promise you no one cares. Get _inside_ , Jastor.”

Valeera pokes her head out cautiously before moving silently through the store. “You’re up early.”

Liadrin opens her mouth to tell them _both_ to get back into the storage room – and snaps it shut at the sound of wood smashing in an adjacent house. She backs Valeera quickly back to the bookcase, motioning for Gallywix to follow.

He lingers at the threshold, beady eyes staring back at the shop window. “Never should have stayed with you lot, you’ll be the death of me.”

“As if it isn’t the other way around,” Valeera hisses. “I saw what happened to Velonara. Keep your coward mouth shut.”

This is the first she’s heard of Gallywix having anything to do with Velonara’s death, but this is hardly the time to unpack that. She gives them a reproachful look, holding a finger to her lips.

From across the street, a shotgun roars. She turns her neck so quickly it cracks, locking eyes with Genn behind her.

 _There was someone else left and we didn’t_ –

A voice begging hysterically breaks the short pause, too audible even with the wind obscuring parts of it. This isn’t the first time the monsters have found other stragglers who’d thought to hide in their homes, but it’s alarmingly close by.

Behind her, someone whimpers. She motions everyone further back into the room, and gestures again to the obstinate goblin who is _still,_ crazily, standing in the open.

“ _Jastor_.”

To her horror, he pushes _away_ from the shelf and runs out into the street.

“They’re inside, the lot of ‘em, so leave me out of it!”

Gods. Sylvanas had been right to call him a wretch the night this all started. Liadrin exchanges a wide-eyed look with the other elf even as she backs away from the door. She edges in front of Valeera as hungry cries echo outside, circling closer. For all the good it will do. That idiot’s killed them all.

There’s a beat of silence, then Sylvanas darts to where the molotovs she and Genn had argued over so often line the shelf. She shoves several into the crook of one arm, looking around wildly.

“A lighter. Anyone. _Now_.”

Pained tosses her a zippo in the same instant Liadrin realizes what she means to do. She nearly protests, but there’s no time. Sylvanas is their best chance, and only half because she reacted before anyone else.

“Nathanos, Liadrin. Get them out.”

Nathanos nods at her solemnly, holding out his gun. She doesn’t protest, tucking it into her pants opposite her own while Greymane herds the shocked crowd to the back exit.

“You can’t!” Jaina pleads, distraught. No need to keep her voice down now that they’ve been made. “You’ll die, Sylvanas, please–”

“Too clever to die, remember?” To her credit, her voice doesn’t shake. She looks to Vereesa next. “Forgive me, Little Moon. I wasn’t enough after all, but I can still buy time.”

The younger Windrunner chokes on a denial, reaching a hand out just as the front door splinters inward, followed by a ravenous howl. Sylvanas risks one more look at Jaina before slipping out, gun in one hand and the lighter clenched between her teeth.

Liadrin swallows down her regret, and gets the group moving out the back while Genn heaves the bookshelf back into place.

They’ve barely begun to put distance between themselves and the hideout when the air shakes with the thunder of an explosion. A plume of flame shoots up, visible above the rooftops for a moment before dissipating into thick smoke. The boards of the house between them rattle like bones.

Jaina stumbles, half-turning. Liadrin takes her by the arm and hauls her away, conscious of the others Genn and Nathanos are trying to corral. She keeps Valeera in front of her, eyes fixed on that slight back as she moves Jaina forward.

Behind her, a thud and an interrupted yelp. She can’t shoot, damn it all, the noise would draw them like a beacon. It’s happening again and she’s helpless to stop it.

This much she can do. Help get them somewhere safe, reassess. Once again she’s running with an ache pounding in her chest, but now instead of a name it’s a number, reverberating and accusing and too small.

 _Twelve, twelve, twelve_...

-

Sylvanas is already shooting when she barrels into the main room. Her opening salvo hits one of them, bringing it crashing down in front of her.

The next one to leap at her takes the remainder of the bullets from Nathanos’ gun, so she drops it and grabs the lighter in the same motion. A flick and a molotov blazes; she hurls it out the newly doorless entrance. An answering cry tells her she hit the mark.

 _Good_. She throws another for good measure, then she’s out the front and moving through the flames. There’s only one thing that might provide a large enough distraction.

 _Gas station. No power but enough fuel left in the pumps and maybe, maybe_ –

Like this, every sense heightened, she doesn’t hesitate to fling the last incendiary in a high arc at the fuel pump closest to her. There’s no time to waste on finding cover, so she shoves her instincts back and keeps racing down the road. One misstep here and she’ll die too quickly to help the others.

The explosion, when it comes, propels her off her feet. The _whoosh_ of warm air is like a wall slamming against her back, shoving her forward. She gets her arms under her and springs to her feet, boots digging into the snow.

There’s only a flash of time to look around, but she uses it well. Not counting the one twisting and burning near the entrance to the shop, she counts seven of them. Two more newly alight, two on the ground. Others still across the way, toying with the poor soul they’d dragged out into the open.

Then she’s running again. Several screech and give chase, and one follows in an eerily leisurely manner. Others break off around the sides of Gallywix’s shop, sending a sharp dread through her.

 _Two. They can handle two_.

Even if any shots would be akin to a signal flare to these creatures, the storm offers enough cover that they have a chance. Gods, let it be enough.

One ferocious pursuer clears the distance too quickly. She’s painfully conscious of her remaining fifteen rounds as she struggles to kneecap the charging figure. By the time she manages, she’s down to ten. The next shot leaves it prone and thrashing.

 _Nine_.

The relaxed one takes the time to catch up, strolling one moment and in front of her before she can blink in the next.

It’s different from the others. This too had been a night elf, once. Its – _her?_ – hair falls in luscious waves past her shoulders, and shadows writhe under her flawless dark skin. In her mouth, too many teeth glint like knives.

The other creatures crowd in behind the arresting woman in a half circle. There’s more use in standing her ground then running now.

 _I’m sorry, Jaina. I lied after all_.

Sylvanas shoots her between the eyes, and she, _it_ – licks its lips to catch the liquid oozing from the wound.

“That might work on my subjects,” she croons, syllables liquid, “but I am beyond all of them.”

A dark hand lifts her easily by the front of her coat, letting her watch as the entry wound from her bullet stitches itself back together. Then the woman throws her down with so much force she bounces off the ground. Something snaps in her chest, forcing an unbidden cry from her lips.

If she’s allowed one last satisfaction, it’s this: Gallywix didn’t make it far. As she struggles back to standing she can see his corpse nearby, face frozen in disbelief. She hopes he had time to see his death coming.

She looks up at the monster rearing above her, fighting the inexplicable urge to run or – or _bow_. The woman radiates with the same strange draw of Jaina’s stone, but alarmingly amplified.

“Aren’t _you_ tenacious.” The voice glides along her ears like silk.

“What are you?”

“Why, your empress.”

The small crowd assembled behind this beatifically smiling nightmare babble in low tones of adoration. It’s all the more unsettling that these monsters should have a leader. A leader she _can’t kill_.

“Get out of my town!” she orders, on the cusp of desperation and a deep, sinking fear.

The woman laughs, chiding. “You silly, proud thing. This town belongs to me. It did from the moment your machines dug me up.”

The only machines she knows of are the equipment Antonidas and his merry band have been using in the lagoons and off the coast, but then... How old does that make this creature? _Centuries?_ She bites down on her lip to quell the shiver.

“You’re saying you were buried with those baubles?”

“You know of them?” The elf-that-isn’t drifts closer, considering her more carefully. “Perhaps you also know if any among you have ferreted them away, hm? Taken what is rightfully mine for themselves?”

 _Jaina_. Her brilliant human can even use it – this abomination _cannot_ discover her. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Oh? I would reward such knowledge handsomely.”

“What _reward_ could you possibly offer?” she pries, trying to stall further. It hasn’t been nearly long enough to ensure the safety of her people, but her own time is plainly running out.

“Why, eternity. The honor of joining me and mine in dominion over this earth.”

“You’re a megalomaniac,” Sylvanas spits. Eternity? _Dominion?_ It’s raving, unthinkable.

“I was accused of such things, once.” The woman steps closer still, spreading her arms wide. “The world could not accept what my magic proved capable of.”

“Your magic?”

“It was finally all mine. I would have carried my people into a new age, had _some_ not dared to interfere. But they’re dead at last, and I remain to spread my gift once more.”

Distantly, she remembers long ago lessons, half-ignored in favor of lobbing paper at her more bothersome classmates.

‘ _And when those old families took all the magic for themselves, they finally began to fight amongst each other for more of it. Until one day there was a great cataclysm, and history itself went dark._ ’

There’s a certain kind of irony in being perhaps the only living being to have part of an answer to a historical question she never cared for. That, and she’s about to die.

It’s a struggle to keep from looking over her shoulder. She hasn’t heard a single shot, so her group must have evaded their pursuers. Are they far enough away by now? It’s barely been a handful of minutes, but she can’t be sure.

 _Just a little longer_.

“'Gift'? Is that what you call whatever twisted you and your ‘followers’ into monsters?” She _will_ keep the tremble from her voice. She will.

“Would you say such things if you knew the joy of never tiring? Never aging? Why, you’d be... _perfect_.”

 _Perfect_. Despite herself, for one brief moment, she _wants_. Perfection has always been out of her reach. Alleria was perfect. Even with her sister gone she still plays second-fiddle to a shadow. Not good enough for Greymane, for Maiev. Even, in the end, her little sister. But...

The moment comes and goes. _Not like this_.

“You’re a far cry from perfection.”

The woman raises a single, lovely brow. More shadows draw close behind her, not quite upon them yet.

“So defiant, but already mine. Will you not accept my gift, huntress?”

The woman stands directly in front of her now, tall enough that she has to look up to meet eyes that both draw her in like black holes and glimmer with every star in the galaxy. They demand Sylvanas fall at her feet.

She locks her knees, contrary to a fault. “I don’t _belong_ to anyone, witch!”

It’s a fool’s chance, but it’s the only one to be had. She throws herself back, trying to escape the demon’s reach, and empties her clip into its eyes. Claws rake across her ribs, scraping bone, but she avoids evisceration by a narrow margin. Then, while it recovers and its sycophants stand frozen in shock, she _flees_.

Through a house, out a back window, into the empty building behind it, under another house and out again. An outcry rises behind her, a sure sign of pursuit, but she never makes the mistake of looking back. She runs and runs, an arm wrapped around the dripping laceration to avoid leaving a blood trail, as the pain of the wound begins to transform into searing cold.

It’s her ribs that stop her, finally, leaving her gulping greedy bursts of painful air. The house over her offers cover from the storm, and more importantly the ones hunting her. Her fingers brush the wound, sending a shock of startling pain through her. It’s all she can do to apply pressure but she manages, jaw clamped tight. Minutes or hours pass while she keeps her hand over the slash through willpower alone, drifting in a painful haze.

At some point the radio she’d forgotten she had pipes up at her waist, drawing her closer to awareness.

“ _Sylvanas, come in. We made it, do you copy?_ ”

Nathanos, quiet but clear. Some of her tension falls away, melting into stark relief. She hasn’t failed. She moves to answer, and hesitates. If Nathanos knows she still lives, he’ll almost certainly try to find her. His staunch loyalty is admirable, but can only endanger him now. Better to wait until her strength returns, then find her way to them.

Her hand drops. She spends the next indeterminable span of time focusing on the harsh in and out of her own breathing. As near as she can tell only the one rib cracked when that witch threw her, but the place those claws sliced burns like a cold brand.

Static comes from the radio, and something that could be fumbling, then:

“ _Sylvanas? Please, please answer me_.”

Her unsteady panting stutters. Jaina. Her brave human. She would want to mount a rescue too, likely try and get a group together. Run out and into one of those _demons_. Still, selfishly, she wants to respond. It seems bitterly unfair that she should have to keep silent when she knows Jaina’s voice might fool her into feeling warm. All the same, she manages. It’s enough to know they're alive.

Gods, but the gash from that she-devil aches.

She turns the radio off and waits. More time passes, but she can’t manage to catch her breath – as if it's being siphoned from her lungs. Can that all be from her ribs? The blood loss must also be greater than she imagined, because as she sprawls there the wind turns gradually to whispers, wrapping around her shaking body. Coaxing, enticing.

... _alah darnana dor, mush’a...zin anu’Azshara_...

She drifts in an uneasy daze, the wind sighing around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Thalassian/Darnassian dictionaries and speculation, that phrase Jaina puzzles out is a cobbled together: _The truth is a guiding light to/for magic_ , and the voice Sylvanas hears says: _Greetings, hunter. Glory for Azshara._ Probably. Blizzard pls, translate more. Am begging. 
> 
> Anyway hahaa. Ha. Yelling? Speculation? Fair game in the comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Close quarters do no one any favors. Two people have very different bad dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took _much_ longer than I meant it to, but it's finally done. This chapter and the next were going to be one giant one, but in the end it was too huge. 6 will be up very soon though! 
> 
> Thanks again to Torch, who let me yell about this multiple times altogether too early in the morning. And to all of you, for your comments! Mad props to the person who said 'woo!' because honestly that is the mood.

December 3rd

 _Azshara looks down on her followers from her steep vantage as they mill at the foot of the hill to exalt her. The small coalition before them shrinks back in horror, as do all who fail to understand her great reformation. Their cowardice matters little in the end – they’ll be run down and brought into service like the others soon enough, resistance molded into the adulation she deserves_.

_As she weaves her spell her voice rises in volume, in strength. The shadows surrounding her army climb to the clouds and beyond, inspiring an exultant cheer from below. Her people love her, and well they should – all of them are beyond mortal, thanks to her._

_At the base of the hill, she spots a flash of green hair. So that hateful woman made it this far. It’s commendable, but futile. A laughably wasted effort. Nothing can stop her now._

_Tyrande, seemingly uncaring, rushes into battle instead of hesitating. The foolish charge inspires the rest of her doomed soldiers, and Azshara smiles eagerly in anticipation of seeing them break against her line, except, wait_ –

 _Below, a blast blows hundreds of her servants away. And in the epicenter, that_ wretched _priestess. How did that self-righteous_ nobody _get her hands on–_

 _The shockwave reaches her, removed as she is. It takes but an instant, one_ second _that distracts from her spell for the energy from her casting to run wild. The discharge hits both her, and the bulk of her clustered army._

 _The last sound she hears is the violent vacuum of energy with no place to go. The last thing she sees, her shadows receding as the earth comes down around her and drives her towards the water. Then_ –

“My queen?”

She opens her eyes. True sleep has evaded her for hundreds of years, but she finds it’s not something to be missed. Her memories are too often spoiled by that self-sacrificial priestess as it stands.

One of her subjects stands before her, visibly restraining herself from kneeling at her feet. Pathetic, but expected.

“What news?”

“We...we still struggle with the machines, your radiance. The single one we managed to repair is...unwieldy. It crushes what conduits are below before we can bring them to the surface.”

Azshara takes a moment to survey her new domain, burnt, bloodied, and frozen as it is. For days now, she’s had her people working tirelessly to restore what Stormsong broke. And what does she have to show for it? Mewling sycophants too distracted by their feeding frenzy to carry out the simplest of commands.

They will rebuild, she reminds herself. She won’t be stuck with the dregs for long, once she expands her territory. Knowing the time she’ll be saddled with these lackwits grows ever shorter adds a touch more generosity to her smile.

“If the machine hinders you, use shovels. If not shovels, then your hands.” She bites her cheek to keep the gentle look on her face. “I would so hate to be disappointed after these many long years.”

“Yes, my queen. I will relay your instructions.” Her servant offers a choppy bow, then hurries off.

Just for a flash, a very small moment, she wonders if perhaps the over-saturation of arcane is preventing her subjects from reaching the sort of potential she requires. They’re meant to _love_ her, not get stuck in useless rapture. Yet in the days since they were unearthed, she’s seen signs of...deterioration. As if their minds can’t contend with the gift she gave them.

 _Weaklings_.

And there are so few of them left, when once they numbered in the thousands. All due to that hateful woman, who dared to bring her low and ruin her army.

Now the huntress from the other day...that one was fierce. Had she survived the blow she’d been dealt, the arcane should have drawn her here by now. Pity, she lacks fighters like that. Her best had been on the front lines, perishing immediately in the feedback from Tyrande’s despicable interference.

The elves closest to her shiver, no doubt sensing her displeasure. Well, let them. She has every right to seethe at the incompetence Stormsong displayed before she ripped his head from his shoulders.

The people here are soft and easily killed. Once the town was emptied, she should have had time to regain her power and find the means to darken the sky once more. But that foolish man lacked the wit to think beyond his devotion, and now she has broken machines, lesser subjects, and only what magic remains within her own body.

No matter that these inconveniences will only delay her a small while. The indignity is that she should be inconvenienced at all. Soon, though. She’ll have it all back, and more. First, this town. Then the continent as before.

|||||

_December 5 th_

They’re in an attic, now. A small room up a ladder in a house that’s been visibly ransacked. Even when they were all doubled over outside, winded from their mad dash across town, they could make out the obvious cracks in the door.

The telling stains on the wood leading to the upper story also gave them pause, but. The house is close to the north road, away from the center of town. Even if that didn’t do whoever used to live here any good, Liadrin reasoned those monsters wouldn’t come back right away.

After a rapid-fire discussion just inside the door, the officers deemed it their best option. There’s no blood in the attic, at least. The previous occupants likely never made it that far.

One of Pained’s few comforts is the bottle she snagged from the goblin’s stash before they ran. The thought of getting through this month and toasting to the sunrise does a lot to help the headache that resurfaces whenever Greymane and Nathanos clash.

It’s been days since Gallywix threw them under the bus. Days stuck in this room with people who can’t seem to decide if they’d rather be at each others’ throats or grieve quietly.

She doesn’t know what to make of their new hiding place. Dust lines the corners and the single window they quickly covered with a sheet of cardboard. The room is half-filled with boxes, illegibly labelled in faded marker. A rocking horse stands in the corner, thankfully covered in its own thick layer of dust.

It’s smaller than Gallywix’s room – and damn the man twice for what he did – but then, there are only nine of them left.

 _Ten_ , Jaina might argue if she could read minds alongside her new...water powers. She and Vereesa are the only ones who won’t – _can’t_ – admit Sylvanas isn’t coming back.

But Jaina hasn’t done any arguing since the first tense minutes after they pressed into the dim attic. Since she grabbed the radio from Genn and didn’t let go until both Pained and Greymane pulled her away.

Actually, Jaina hasn’t spoken much at all beyond halfhearted responses. She’s spent days with her strange magic rock instead, and the only positive is that the soft blue light seems to calm Vereesa as much as it curbs Valeera’s sharp tongue.

Even Liadrin orbits it unconsciously, though she’s yet to huddle up to it like the others. Not that Pained doesn’t feel the same curious draw, but she’s not crowding into Jaina’s space over it. If she did, though, her friend would scarcely notice. All she does now is flip that stone, hand over hand.

At least it keeps them all distracted. From how hungry they are now that they’re down to one paltry snack a day, the ghostly silence that’s settled over the town, and the lukewarm power struggle between their police force.

It hardly helps that they have to deal with sneaking to the first floor. The downstairs bathroom is _far_ preferable to anyone doing their business in the attic, and with Jaina’s new aptitude for manipulating water they can avoid the incriminating sound of a flushing tank. The extra steps maybe aren’t practical, but morale-wise it’s everything.

Especially when morale is already so damn low. The cops aren’t going easy because they _want_ to, but because any kind of fistfight would get them all killed.

Restricted like that, they’ve been sparring with words instead. Greymane and Marris are more heated, while Liadrin tries to weave in her own steady calm. They’re arguing in the same way now, drawing the rest of the room into it.

Pained pops a peanut butter cracker in her mouth before turning her attention back to the squabble of the day, chewing apathetically.

“It goes without saying. Marris will make better use of it,” Greymane presses, holding his hand out.

Vereesa clutches her weapon closer, angling away from the human. “I can aim just as well.”

“Greymane,” Marris interjects with an apologetic glance at Vereesa. Not _captain_ anymore; he gave up that charade of civility the first day in this attic, after Sylvanas never answered. “The conditions aren’t right anyway. If you leave now they might see you.”

“The conditions won’t matter when we’re starving,” Greymane says, stiff. “We haven’t heard one of _them_ in days. Would you risk all these people for _caution_?”

Personally, Pained thinks the question could use some self-examination.

Liadrin agrees, from the harsh angle of her lips. “Genn,” she intervenes, quiet but authoritative. “Just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re gone. We can last a bit longer. Until the next storm.”

“And if there isn’t one soon enough?”

She makes a frustrated gesture around the room. “If we don’t make it back? What then?”

“I–” Kinndy stammers. “I’m good without as much food. I was kind of getting bored with chocolate health bars anyway.”

“That’s admirable,” Greymane says, trying to be gentle for once, “but what about the rest of us?”

“Trade you for the rest of these crackers,” Pained offers, just loud enough for Kinndy to hear. She’s as sick of crumbly peanut butter as the gnome is of chocolate by now.

They trade meals in silence while the debate rages on. It seesaws back and forth, from what to do about their missing elf, to speculation on the nature of the enemy, to how hungry they all are.

She liked Sylvanas, and not just for Jaina’s sake, but she’s worried that Marris won’t stop trying to die on the same hill. It’s too like the – otherwise reasonable – third member of their police force. Liadrin barely sleeps even _off_ watch these days.

So, it’s best they don’t talk about Sylvanas. But the last time someone broached the subject of food, they numbered almost double what they do now. Not to mention several of that number staring at her like the threat was in the room with them. Whatever those things might have been, they’re no more night elves _now_ than she is a goblin.

Gods, if her own mind is this disjointed it’s no wonder they’re all falling to pieces. She takes a tentative bite of her chocolate bar, gagging around the sugar. Still better than peanut butter.

“So we’re agreed, they chose to attack us at this time for a reason.”

Marris bringing up an interesting point gets her to tune back in a little.

“Do we know that?” Jaina says, monotone. There’s not nearly enough inflection to call it a question. “Maybe there wasn’t a reason.”

She flips her rock in the same robotic manner as the last several days. Water drips down to her precise hands, freezing into a thin layer of ice against her coat. Jaina doesn’t give any indication of noticing.

“No.” Valeera kicks her heels, shaking her head. “They could have started after the planes stopped going out, but shit didn’t go down until the sun set. That had to be on purpose.”

“Then, what?” Pained asks, reluctantly drawn into the conversation. “They can’t be in the sun? They really _are_ vampires?”

Liadrin hums. “I don’t think it was a coincidence, so they either have problems with sunlight or whatever they’re doing requires we be cut off for a month. Whichever it is, we only need to make it another two weeks.”

“Even if that’s right, how many did we lose the _last_ two weeks?” Anya mutters from where she’s pressed against a stack of boxes labelled GRADUATION.

That’s a painfully true point, maybe especially for Anya. Out of everyone who survived the first few frantic hours, she lost Sylvanas, Velonara, and Alina anyway. Pained might just lose it if it weren’t for Kinndy and Jaina, but the others weren’t nearly as lucky.

“But we know now,” Vereesa says, hoarse and very small with her arms wrapped around her knees. “We know what gets people killed. So we stick together, and if...if Sylvanas comes back we can...”

“It’s been four days and she hasn’t answered comms once. She’s gone.” Greymane at least has the decency to look uncomfortable in the face of Vereesa’s crushed expression.

“She’s not dead,” Marris snaps, gruff. “If she held those monsters off as long as she did, she must have gotten away. I still say I should look for her.”

“Don’t start that again. We lost a lot of good people, how would _she_ survive?”

For the first time in hours, Jaina’s hands pause. One above the other, hovering in place like a frozen automaton.

“ _Genn_.” For all that it’s quiet, Liadrin makes it sound like a shout. “Leave it. Both of you. We’ll wait for a whiteout to find food, or until it becomes urgent. There’s no good reason to do it right this instant. Now, who has the next watch?”

Greymane looks at her, betrayed, but she stares him down until he backs off. Marris doesn’t give up so easily.

“Liadrin, I can find her.”

“If...” she says carefully, doubt showing through the cracks in her stoic demeanor. “If I thought you could, I’d help you try. But we both heard how many shots she fired.”

“What if it were someone _you_ – cared about?”

Liadrin flinches, too wounded for what should have been a simple barb. To the side, Valeera shifts like she’s trying not to stand. There’s a story there, but none of them are eager to volunteer much about what happened before the diner. Pained was the only one already there, so she only had to _hear_ the screams.

“I did like her,” Liadrin answers. Her voice is clipped, constricted. “I can’t act counter to reason, though. Think of everyone here.”

He turns away, staring darkly at nothing. In the corner, Jaina flips her stone again. She doesn’t look up once.

|||||

_???? / December 8 th_

_“Pleeeease?”_

_Sylvanas shakes her head, laughing. “It’s a bit high for you, don’t you think?”_

_“I can do it! Come on, come on come on!”_

_Vereesa hops in place impatiently, bag already on the ground under the tree she means to climb if Sylvanas will just say yes already. She probably will, since Alleria isn’t here. Their older sister never walks home with her anymore, because all her friends are_ old _, but Sylvanas still does sometimes._

 _When she’s not hanging out with Nathanos and her other friends, anyway. Some of them are kind of cool, even if Sylvanas gets more reckless around them. Enough to get in trouble_ way _more than Alleria._

_Anyway, she knows her sister wants to climb the tree too. She’s always pulling herself up things, and she hardly ever falls._

_Sylvanas_ hmms _, considering, and finally shrugs her own backpack off. “Ladies first,” she calls, already moving._

_“Hey!” Vereesa hurries up after her._

_It’s easy, at first. Fun. The comforting pine smell follows her on the journey up, and there’s something exhilarating about working her limbs until they’re sore._

_She doesn’t know why Sylvanas was so reluctant until she stops to take a breath – and looks down._

_It’s a long way. Longer than she thought looking up, like double their whole_ house _. Her hands freeze around the branch she’s on, knees beginning to knock together so strongly her feet start to slip. She doesn’t look away from the looming ground until her eyes squeeze shut around frightened tears._

_“Help!”_

_If she opens her eyes she might fall straight down, so she can’t tell where her sister is. What if she just keeps climbing, or laughs at her, or leaves her here for being a crybaby, or–_

_“Hey.” Sylvanas maneuvers around her, careful not to step on the same perch. She finds purchase on an adjacent branch, reaching to support Vereesa with her free arm. “What’s wrong?”_

_When she forces her eyes open again, Vereesa’s so glad to see her she abruptly stops sniffling._

_“It’s really far down,” she whimpers, clutching the trunk without a care for the bark smearing against her palms._

_“I–”_

_She braces for_ told you so _, but Sylvanas changes her mind halfway through. “–see your clothes are ruined.” She clears her throat. “Mother’s going to bend my ear.”_

 _Her ears sink towards her shoulders. Disappointing her sister is the_ worst _. “I can tell her I fell?”_

_“You’re a terrible liar, but it’s the thought that counts.” Sylvanas looks longingly back up the tree, but she doesn’t move from Vereesa’s side. “Ready to go back?”_

_She chances another look down and sways, wind rushing in her ears. “I don’t think I can.”_

_Sylvanas silently but obviously counts to five, then lets go of her shoulder and measures the distance to the ground. “Let’s see... I’ll climb down first, catch you if you fall?_

_“I can’t, I_ can’t _.”_

_“Then...I’ll find someone who can help?”_

_“No!” She doesn’t want to be alone in the tree. If Sylvanas leaves she’s going to freeze and fall and_ die _. And Sylvanas might_ say _she can catch her, but they’re so high up._

 _Her sister clicks her tongue, more baffled than angry. “If you won’t let me help or_ get _help, how are we supposed to get down?”_

 _She doesn’t know, and that only makes her more upset. “Don’t leave me up here,_ promise _you won’t.”_

_Sylvanas mutters testily, but settles down. “Oh alright. It’s nice out, I suppose I can stay.”_

_The next moment she’s swinging upside down without warning, held in place by her legs. Vereesa shrieks, heart leaping into her throat until she sees the easy way she’s swaying back and forth. Far from being in danger, Sylvanas is_ enjoying _herself._

 _“That was_ mean! _”_

_Sylvanas sticks her tongue out, a silly picture while she’s hanging from her knees. When she sees how afraid Vereesa really was, though, she shifts back to right-side up, the uptick of her lips still plain to see._

_“Sorry.”_

_“You’re not.”_

_“I’m a_ little _sorry.” She smirks, so self-satisfied Vereesa can’t help but blow a raspberry back._

 _Sylvanas_ is _mean, but she always makes up for it. Like now, since she’s helping Vereesa into a sitting position and not laughing about this at home._

_Golden light filters down through thick branches, glinting off her hair and turning it an ethereal silvery gold. She drapes her arms along the limb overhead, lounging in the sun and asking idle questions about Vereesa’s day to distract her until the crunching of leaves below catches their attention._

_There’s Alleria now, straggling on purpose so she won’t have to run into them on the way home. Her friends aren’t with her today, thank goodness. Any more witnesses to Vereesa’s failure and she might be fine with living in this tree forever._

_Sylvanas leans down, eyes twinkling with mirth._

_“Oh, Lady Sun?” she calls, shaking with silent laughter. “We seem to have treed ourselves. Could you help us down?”_

_Alleria glares up at them, unamused but unsurprised to see them halfway up a tree. “What do you need_ my _help for? Did you forget how to climb?”_

_“Vereesa’s gone and become a koala,” Sylvanas says, ignoring her pout. “Think you can catch her?”_

_“But I don’t_ want _to move,” Vereesa whines._

 _Sylvanas cocks her head, affecting a serious thinking face. “Right, you’ll just have to hold on to me. Then_ I’ll _jump, and Alleria will catch us both.”_

_From below, a snort shows exactly what their older sister thinks of that plan. “Or you could use your head and help her down instead of throwing her out of a tree. I’ll be here if she falls.”_

_Sylvanas sniffs. “If you want to be boring about it.”_

_It’s a little weird, the way they’re talking. Not really any differently than usual – Sylvanas being easygoing while Alleria shoots her down is nothing new. It just sort of feels like a play this time. The kind they have at her school every year, where no matter how good the actors are they’re still students._

_“Ready?” Sylvanas asks, snapping her out of that funny idea._

_Vereesa shakes her head furiously, hugging the tree more tightly. Sylvanas’ ears move forward and back, like she can’t decide if she’s mad or not. Finally, though, they settle on lightly tilted back. Not_ mostly _mad at least._

_“Be brave now, Little Moon. I’ll be with you the whole way.”_

_And she is, keeping close while Vereesa painstakingly inches her way down. It’s the last thing she wants to do, but they can’t stay up here all day and imagining having to call the fire station for a ladder almost has her crying all over again._

_She slips a bunch, and each time Sylvanas is there to help her find new purchase until maybe fifteen feet off the ground, when she steps on a branch that snaps under her weight. Her breath hitches and then she’s falling, too shocked to scream._

_Sylvanas grasps her arm, but when it’s clear the tree won’t support their weight she_ flings _herself after her, flipping them to put herself between Vereesa and the ground. They land among the leaves with a jolt._

 _Alleria groans under them, winded. She_ did _try to catch them, Vereesa thinks with a little bit of wonder._

_“Can everyone feel their toes?” Sylvanas calls, coughing from where she’s wedged between them._

_Next to her, Alleria hisses words mom says she isn’t supposed to use before sitting up. Her stern look softens when she takes in Vereesa, unharmed._

_“Get off,” she grumbles, shoving at Sylvanas. “What were you_ thinking _, taking her up there?”_

_Sylvanas removes herself from the pile slowly, rolling Vereesa off too. Then she flops onto her back and starts chuckling, softly at first before rising into bright peals of laughter._

_Vereesa stares while Sylvanas laughs and laughs, sprawled in the fading light. It’s too loud, not like usual. She’s so confused she forgets that normally she’d be crying over what just happened._

_Alleria looks on like she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or furious. Furious would be bad – Sylvanas pretends she doesn’t care what Alleria thinks but she really does, a lot._

_“I made her do it,” Vereesa objects, distressed. “Don’t be mad, she’ll hate it if you’re mad.”_

_“Don’t worry about our Lady Moon, she’ll bounce back.” Alleria stands, brushing herself off and reaching a hand down to help her up. “There you go.” She begins picking the leaves off Vereesa too, tsking at the stains on her shirt. “Was it worth it?”_

_“Maybe.” It’s not a lie, actually. It was fun, even if she was scared almost the whole time. “Thanks for helping us.”_

_“Against my better judgement,” Alleria says, but gently._

_Sylvanas, finally laughed out, scoops their bags off the ground and hands Vereesa’s back with a wink. They start the walk home, leaving the sunlit tree behind as her sisters needle each other._

_“What are you going to tell mother? You have leaves in your hair, by the way.”_

_“What are_ you _going to tell her?” Sylvanas narrows her eyes suspiciously, fussing over her hair until it’s almost as perfect as she likes it to be._

_Alleria sighs, long-suffering. “She told me she’d be getting groceries after school. Just get cleaned up before she gets back.”_

_“You_ can _be devious!” Sylvanas crows. “Hear that, Vereesa? Off the hook.”_

 _“Don’t make a habit of it.” Alleria frowns, but Vereesa’s not fooled. Her ears give away she’s at least a_ little _amused._

_There’s a question she wants to ask Sylvanas, but how to put what she’s thinking in words only occurs to her halfway up the winding road. “What if Alleria never came?”_

_“Why, we’d have built a treehouse up there and become royalty. She’d be so very jealous.”_

_“Only of your incredible lack of care,” Alleria says, nudging Sylvanas with her shoulder while Vereesa giggles. “It must be nice to be so empty-headed.”_

_“Empty-headed as I am, I might just forget to send you an invitation. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”_

_Vereesa nods along happily, walking beside them. It’s darker out now, sky fading to purple. The trees rustle around them, but she can’t hear any birds. Maybe because it’s so cold out. The fall chill gives way to something more biting as she struggles to keep pace._

_Walking a little faster so she won’t get left behind by her sisters’ longer strides, she reaches for Sylvanas’ elbow. White puffs of air exit her mouth, but Sylvanas looks unbothered in her shorts._

_“Hey, um...”_

_Sylvanas looks down at her, expression hard to make out in the dark. The...dark? It was just mid-afternoon, when did the sun go down? She looks around to ask Alleria, but she’s gone. Did she decide to go on ahead to check for mom?_

_Something isn’t right here. It can’t be this cold. It was_ warm _earlier, in the sun. And now Alleria’s gone, and... She shivers, goosebumps rising on her skin. Her question is suddenly really important, like she won’t be able to breathe if she doesn’t get an answer._

_The rustling grows around them, but she needs to know. She tugs at Sylvanas more insistently._

_“You mean it though? You would’ve stayed?”_

_Her sister mouths something, but it’s indistinct._ This isn’t right _, she thinks again. Sylvanas is supposed to joke here, she_ did _joke here, so obnoxious it had Alleria groaning again and..._

 _An animal keens somewhere in the lengthening shadows, and she_ –

–wakes up.

-

When the elf sits up with a gasp, Jaina can make out her trembling shoulders in the faint light of her relic.

Vereesa seemed so peaceful before, but they all know how fast the good turns bad now. It’s just too bad she’s awake _now_ , when Nathanos and Genn are bickering again. The subject is a sore one, if frequent – Nathanos still wants to look for Sylvanas. Greymane and Liadrin stop him every time, but soon it won’t be enough and then they’ll lose someone else.

Vereesa picks up the words too, shaky inhales turning to little hitching gasps until Jaina can’t bear to let her friend suffer in silence. As little help as she’ll be.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Vereesa starts before she realizes Jaina’s the one speaking to her. She shakes her head slowly, then bites her lip. “I didn’t know back then, but it was a long way down. Like falling off a roof. She...she was scared too, but she still tried to hit the ground first.”

“A roof?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing, just a...an old memory.” Vereesa shudders around another sob. “She really is dead, isn’t she?”

The elf shifts from her position near Jaina’s legs, silver hair falling across her face to shield her shimmering eyes.

It’s not enough to hide the tear tracks on her face. Jaina’s chest twinges. To her knowledge Vereesa hasn’t cried since...since it happened. As if giving into her grief would be admitting Sylvanas isn’t coming back.

“We don’t know that.” It’s lackluster in her own ears, but she can’t force confidence into the words any more than she could resignation. Feelings are distant, these days.

Still, she understands. After their disagreement the sisters only spoke short, curt sentences to each other. One night, low and hesitant against her shoulder, Sylvanas quietly confided the last thing she wanted was to say the wrong thing again, so she just avoided Vereesa altogether.

She can’t imagine how deeply gutted Vereesa must be. Not like her. She’s just empty, like that day a week ago stripped her emotions away. Or...or maybe she’s only doing her best to be that way, because the alternative is to think about it all and she _can’t_. She doesn’t know how Vereesa can stand to even say Rhonin’s name, and they had two years together.

So Jaina _doesn’t_ think about it. Instead, she thinks about the way her control over magic is improving, and how the water she summons is actually drinkable. About the unappealing junk food they’ve all been eating for a week. About how curious it is that whatever force resides within her relic has a magnetic draw on elves.

And nothing else.

“She must have hated me for what I said,” Vereesa whispers, shoulders bunching. “I shouldn't have, I didn't...why did I _say_ that.”

Jaina runs a soothing hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face. “We both know she could never hate you.”

Vereesa chokes down another sob, collapsing against Jaina’s legs.

She strokes a hand over the elf’s shaking back, but most of her attention rests on the stone she passes from hand to hand. A ring of water dances around her head, twisting into myriad shapes before falling to the floor, freezing, then rising again as a liquid.

The last several days, she’s focused on control. Control over her need to bury her head in her knees, and over the form of this new magic. If one’s holding back the other, all the better. And now she can even manage water without the vertigo of her first few attempts.

When she’s not devoting all her energy to manifestation after manifestation, she remembers the way Sylvanas looked at her before she ran outside. Like an apology, or a last breath of air before a dive.

Remembers the smoke from the explosion, and the way she’d wrestled the radio from Greymane later. The way she pleaded for an answer over and over, answered with silence.

Sylvanas _knew_ , she knew what would happen and she left anyway.

Greymane isn’t helping, countering Nathanos’ push for a rescue mission yet again. Vereesa stays curled against her, jacket pulled over her ears while the newly minted police chief continues to spout reasons why they shouldn’t be looking for her sister.

“We haven’t seen any of them in _days_ ,” Nathanos stresses, desperate. “You said it yourself. I could go, find her.”

“You’d go and die, leaving these people with less protection. Even if she had survived, it’s been a week. The cold got her, or something else did.”

 _Stop_ , she thinks, stone flipping less fluidly now. Next to her, Vereesa curls into herself more tightly.

“She fought those things for _us_.” Nathanos wheezes like a bellows. “We owe it to her. _I_ owe it to her!”

“I won’t allow it, not for _her_.”

 _Stop it_.

Nathanos drives a fist into his thigh, drawing flinches from the rest of the room. “Liam was _not_ her fault. When are you going to admit that?”

“ _Do not_ bring him into this,” Greymane thunders, ignoring Liadrin’s warning glance. “She’s _dead_ , and if you’re so eager to die with her you’re not the officer you claim to be.”

 _Don’t talk about her like that, stop it_.

Jaina tries and fails to lose herself in the stone again, eyes burning. Instead, memories rush up from where she’d so desperately tried to keep them buried.

 _‘A ticket for failing to appreciate my girlfriend_.’

 _‘As if I wouldn’t pick you up from the airport_.’

 _‘I love you, you know_.’

She gives up her ritualistic tossing, gripping the relic in agitated hands. Water spills from between her clenched fingers, rousing Vereesa enough to roll away even as her ears cant towards the source.

Glowing blue pulses in time with the angry beat of her heart.

“He was reckless, that’s all,” Nathanos says over the pounding in her temples. “Let it go.”

“Let it _go?!_ ” Greymane takes two running steps forward and–

_STOP_

–jerks to a halt, torso overbalancing his legs. Legs secured to the floor by the columns of ice growing over his knees.

“ _Enough_.” Jaina stands, meeting both shocked faces with a slight shiver of satisfaction. Finally, a _practical_ use for this magic. “Last time, we lost... _so much_ thanks to one stupid man. Are you trying to repeat that?”

He regains his balance clumsily, tapping the ice with his knuckles as if it might be an illusion. Sadly for him, it’s very real. As real as she can will it to be, and isn’t it funny how she understands now that _that’s_ the conduit outside of the stone. So funny she lets the ice climb a little higher, threatening to crawl over his hips. The rest of the room stares, cowed into silence.

Nathanos raises his hands defensively and moves to the opposite end of the attic to exchange muted words with Liadrin, but Jaina doesn’t look away from Genn until he rumbles and drops his shoulders.

“Fine then. So long as no one else volunteers any harebrained ideas.”

Liadrin lays a warning hand on Nathanos’ arm, but he stays where he is. Jaina can hardly manage the same, raring to let Genn stew longer. To send the ice inching up over his waist until she’s granted more of the cold satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

But they won’t survive this by indulging petty whims. Gallywix must have harbored several of those when he ran off, and that had...had cost them...

‘ _Too clever to die, remember?_ ’

She forces the spiteful impulse down, evening out her breathing as the ice around Genn’s legs melts into a puddle. Her strength vanishes with the ice, and it’s only timely intervention from Valeera of all people that keeps her from sagging to the floor.

The elf helps her back down, shooting covert glances somewhere around Jaina’s shoulders. There’s a tremor in her hands, and an odd stutter to her breathing, but she gets Jaina settled well enough.

“Come on Proudmoore, back to resting. Before those idiots give you more grey hairs.”

 _But I don’t...have any?_ she thinks, exhausted. Though that was before...all this.

She settles next to Vereesa again, but sleep stays far from her mind. A week ago she might have spared a thought for Genn and how uncomfortable, not to mention dangerous, wet clothing could be. Now, though... Jaina looks down at her hands and starts flipping the stone again, over and over.

|||||

_December 10 th_

It’s Liadrin’s watch, and every minute that crawls by takes the slow passage of time from aggravating to agonizing. Too many thoughts swirl around in her mind, none of them pleasant. And she can’t air a single one, not when everyone else is barely keeping it together. One more unstable element and the building tension might detonate in a way they won’t recover from.

Unfortunately, not confessing her fears can’t stop her from having them. And gods does she have them.

At the time, it was the right call for Nathanos to give Sylvanas his gun. The woman needed the firepower to keep the monsters off them, and with how many shots she heard before it finally fell silent she knows this much – Sylvanas made them count.

It’s a problem now, though, to have three weapons between two officers and a civilian. Three guns and nine people is a problem she _needs_ to solve, especially with Genn’s point from earlier still rolling around in her head. Storm or no storm, someone has to get food soon.

If Genn gets his way, it will be the two of them. She can stomach that, even with the way their last attempt ended. It’s what will happen to the others if they fail that has her doubled over when no one can see, so tense it hurts.

There are several possible solutions, all of them risky. She could go alone, to minimize the loss if she doesn’t make it back. But it’s a long way to the store, and food won’t solve the _other_ problem.

Three guns. And guns are _loud_. It was fine in the chaos of the first day, the whole town ringing with bells and screams and howls. But now the only noises come from the occasional overturning of furniture in nearby houses, and anything more obvious than a misplaced heavy footstep will get them killed.

Their brief respite from being hunted is over, and not being able to freely use the only weapons they have will be a death sentence if they’re discovered again. So they need something quiet. Fine. The attic contains a collection of fine china, an antique cane, and that rocking horse in a pinch. Also, there are several butter knives and a meat fork in the kitchen.

The laugh she exhales into her hands comes out more like a sob. Luckily, no one stirs.

It’s hopeless, but she can’t let on. Not for her sake, but the others’. She knows Nathanos still dwells on that woman that ran outside only to die, and she’s not naive enough to think there won’t be repeats if anyone begins to truly believe they’ll all die anyway.

Except they will. Unless she does something.

There’s a hunting station not far north of here, and while it’s as off-season as you can get there are bound to be knives used for skinning there. And axes are a dime a dozen when a roaring fire makes all the difference between discomfort and more pleasant temperatures. According to Sylvanas and Vereesa, the creatures can die if you get them in the head. Maybe an axe wouldn’t amount to much, but if anything can give them even a slim chance to live through this she’s willing to do it.

It’s nothing she hasn’t thought of every day since she had to run while Alina was brutalized, and her time to do anything about it dwindles every hour her fellow officers are awake to provoke each other.

Time. They don’t have enough _time_. But Genn would never let her try, and she can’t sneak out without leaving a replacement on watch. When it comes down to it, only two people in this room might let her get away with it.

It doesn’t take long to decide who she’d rather chance. She steps carefully around slumbering bodies, crouching next to her best shot.

“Pained.”

The night elf twitches, unwilling to rouse fully. “Mh?”

“Take over my shift, I’m going to get food. And something to fight with.”

Pained goes from sleepily irritated to fully alert in a second. “Like?”

“An axe, _anything,_ I’d take a _ceremonial sword_ if I found one. We’re going to keep losing people if they can’t defend themselves.” She looks around, making sure the others are still sleeping. “You, Jaina...Valeera. Unarmed, you’re helpless.”

Well. Jaina can freeze people now, a revelation so mind-boggling she’s elected not to linger on it. It would be more helpful if she could do it without collapsing, but it’s something. That miracle doesn’t help the rest of them, though.

“Not sure how dying will help.” Pained assesses her with a hint of sympathy that only puts her more on edge.

“I’m not planning on dying.”

“You sure about that?” The night elf keeps on fixing her with that keen look, evidently seeing more than Liadrin wants her to. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve had a really unfortunate complex since Sylvanas died and you didn’t.”

“I haven’t done a _damn thing_ to help these people.” Only her considerable willpower keeps the snap out of her voice. “I have to, _now_ , before this thing with Genn and Nathanos falls apart. And it will, you know that.”

“If you go all the way across town by yourself, you won’t come back. When you don’t, it’ll happen _tonight_. I won’t go along with this if I think it’ll get you killed.”

That might be true, but the alternative is to sit and wait and watch while everything falls apart around her. Again. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Surprisingly, Pained actually looks to be thinking it over. While she does, Liadrin watches everyone else. Genn, snoring in the corner. Jaina and Vereesa, sharing what warmth they can. Nathanos, miserable even in sleep. And...and Valeera, gripping a pile of linens like she used to hold onto...

When the night elf speaks up again, she feels no small amount of relief.

“Look in the houses next door. Just those, no ‘down the street’ bullshit. Whether you find anything good or not, you get back here and _stay put_.”

“That’s not _enough_.”

“Officer – Liadrin. ‘Enough’ is you not getting torn to pieces out there.”

She blinks. Once, then again. That isn’t at all true, but Pained doesn’t seem the type to lie. She really believes that.

“Alright then,” she says, quietly shaken. “I can do that.”

Pained watches her a little longer before nodding. “It’s quiet out. You think you can do it without cover?”

“I have to try. Give the gun to Nathanos.” She holds it out, exhaling slightly with relief when the other elf takes it without hesitation.

“Don’t die, officer. No heroics.”

She kills the hysterical laughter struggling to spill out. “Not tonight.”

No one stirs as she slips down the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, my birthday is somewhere in this chapter but due to the timeline it is...not where I wanted it to be.  
> Hope y'all enjoyed Everyone Does Nothing For Seven Whole Days: the Chapter, let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really have to stop giving estimates, it's always longer than I think it will be. Remember when I said not every chapter would be long? Me neither. Also I'm overseas now...really didn't think about how hard it'd be to edit over here. This one did something weird to my spacing too.  
> So I could sit on this but I'm just going to let it go, as clumsy as it is. Thanks as always for the comments!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liadrin spreads herself too thin. Valeera tries to face up to her mistake. The monster under the porch is something else entirely this time. Or is it?

_No heroics_ , Pained insisted. Easier said than done.

As she struggles along – from house, to car, to shed – ignoring the way her stomach twists in acute terror, she regrets her earlier confidence. The saving grace is this: there aren’t as many of _them_ prowling around. But there are still _some_ , and she’s had to be painfully circular in her route to avoid leading them back to the group. It’s been at least an hour, and she’s no closer to safety.

Pained’s advice to stick to the immediately adjacent houses was smart. Liadrin just didn’t listen, because there wasn’t enough food. There still isn’t. A few cans of fruit in one house, a salvageable bag of carrots in another...it’s paltry. If the cold has one benefit, it’s that produce isn’t decaying as rapidly.

It’s odd that there should be so little. An entire block of people forgetting to go shopping before a widely predicted snowstorm doesn’t seem right. From the wrappings scattered throughout the buildings, it’s more likely the monsters can eat regular food. If that’s true, then _why?_ What’s driving them to do all this?

A thought for later. What matters now is that she has some of what she came for. The lodge wasn’t an impossible mark after all, no matter what Pained said. Even if breaking the window was loud enough to hurry her through, forcing her to gather what she could in a single pass and bolting. 

With good reason – from where she’s crouched half a block down, she can see them circling the building like sharks. 

She slaps a hand to the tote swinging heavily against her side to silence it. There were scattered tools, there’s that. And bodies. Too many, either sprawled in the open or lying in the small spaces they tried to hide in. The only thing keeping that from rooting her to the ground is this: if she dies here, everyone back at the attic could wind up the same.

It brings her back to those panicked seconds before she found Valeera alive after all. She doesn’t know if she has it in her to walk into that again.

A frustrated shriek sounds from the lodge, her pursuers evidently failing to pick up her trail. She waits a little longer, kneeling with her hands over her mouth and wary of a trap until they disappear across the bleak landscape. Only then does she dare to dash across the street to take shelter behind an overturned car. 

Liadrin catches her breath carefully, searching her surroundings. Nothing, yet. It’s enough of a reprieve that she can recover for a little longer. The bag she carries isn’t all that heavy, but between the cold and her layers it’s a struggle to keep from breathing as heavily as she needs to. 

_Just a little more..._

It takes her just under another hour to make it back to the damaged door of their quarters, and several more tense minutes to be _sure_ she hasn’t been followed before she stumbles inside with her haul and slumps carefully against the wall, chest heaving silently.

She expects the creak of the attic door, but not the hesitant footsteps coming down the stairs. Pained would have told them her plan if anyone noticed her absence, but why would anyone risk revealing themselves like this?

“It’s me,” she gasps, to reassure whoever’s sneaking around. When she turns in time to see Valeera scrambling down the narrow stairs, the surprise nearly poleaxes her.

“Are you crazy?” Valeera whispers, padding over and raking green eyes across her intently. “Going out there by yourself? What if they found you, huh?” 

She sounds no less angry for how quiet she is, but Liadrin can’t help how glad she is to see her. Even when she shouldn’t be. What did she say to Nathanos – be _reasonable?_  

As if she ever has been when it comes to Valeera. Especially not when she made Sylvanas chase her down in the middle of a catastrophe to keep the younger woman safe. What a hypocrite she’s turning out to be.

Not enough of one to pull her close, no matter how sorely she wants to. 

“I brought presents.” She lowers the bag off her shoulder, drooping further with exhaustion. “I don’t think you’ll complain about those.”

True to form, Valeera tries to peer inside before it’s placed safely on the floor. “Oh?”

“We should head up. You first, let them know. I’ll pass it up to you.”

Valeera hesitates, rocking back on one heel. The strangest thing is that there’s none of the showmanship she’s come to expect from a move like that. “You were gone a long time,” she says, oddly tentative. “You okay?”

“Just a little winded.” Liadrin pushes off the wall, avoiding the searching look. “We should get back.”

Valeera stalls again, mouth working, then shrugs. “Your wish my command, Father Christmas.”

-

Genn lets her off with a reprimand and a glare, but the look from Nathanos cuts her. Like she stabbed him in the back. She might as well have, because after all her grand talk in the end she did exactly what she convinced him not to.

He tries to hand her gun back, but she shakes her head without meeting his eyes. “Keep it, I haven’t used it once. Maybe it’s time to try something new.”

Continuing to avoid his gaze, she draws an axe from the bag and hefts it. The last time someone was attacked, she couldn’t shoot. Nothing is going to stop her from helping now. 

Valeera’s next to begin rummaging eagerly, emerging with two wickedly long fishing knives. “No one minds if I double up, right?” 

She’s practically bouncing as she steps back to let the others examine the limited spoils. If anyone _does_ mind, they’re too distracted by the fruit. They haven’t eaten anything that isn’t packed with salt or sugar in days.

Pained doesn’t let Liadrin stay apart from the rest, piercing her with a knowing glance. “The neighbors had those lying around, did they?”

“Stranger things have happened.” It’s halfhearted; the night elf likely knows exactly where she had to go to get those.

“You had one job, officer,” Pained says, ears cocked playfully. It’s a welcome sight, after her horrendous night. 

“The way I see it, I completed all three.”

“I’d be mad, but you made out pretty well all things considered.” The night elf looks her up and down, seemingly satisfied with what she sees. “Just don’t do it again.”

Liadrin nods, unsure how truthful the gesture is. Pained begins to search the bag herself, allowing her a moment to retreat from the crowd. 

Valeera shoots them a puzzled look, fumbling her attempt to spin the knives. She abandons the tricks to saunter over, green eyes narrowed.

“Hey.” She dances over to Liadrin, annoyance seemingly forgotten. “You look done in, you’ve gotta be freezing.”

Liadrin backs up a step, torn between meeting her halfway and pressing herself against the wall. “I’ll manage.”

“You need to stop trying so hard,” Valeera chides with a familiarly affectionate tilt of her lips. “C’mon, I found this weird rug-poncho hybrid in one of these boxes...”  

She flits straight over, starting to lead her by the hand to this supposed hybrid. Liadrin’s so shocked she lets Valeera pull her halfway there before the dissonance may as well slap her.

“Valeera.” Liadrin plants her feet. She can’t help that her next words come out more accusation than question. “What are you doing.” 

It’s too much. She can’t be the recipient of this care, not coupled with the way Valeera wiped her hands clean after that first ill-fated trip to the store. Can’t afford the way it throws her off, making her remember coming home after long shifts and having someone there that made her relax and _laugh_.

She might fall into the trap of believing that affection could last this time.

“Can’t I worry?” Valeera’s posture is casual as ever, but her ears betray her by lowering marginally.  

She wishes she hadn’t seen, because it’s sincere. Sincerity isn’t something she can handle from Valeera, not now. “Just – just stop. Don’t act like this means anything.”

The younger woman drops her hand, furling her own grip. Her eyes dart to Liadrin and away, like she can’t pick where to look. 

"Back then,” she mumbles, low enough that none of the humans will pick it up, “when you came back for me, I thought maybe you still... Would it be so bad to have something nice, right now?"

That's not fair. Of course she still cared. _Cares_ , as much as she tries not to. And if that could change leaving a sparse note before showing back up with inadequate excuses. She doesn’t care that Valeera missed her flight, or ended up half-conscious on her porch. Those pains will fade in time. What’s cruel is having hope dangled in front of her now.

"I was worried, of course I was.” Liadrin matches her low volume, teeth aching. Gods, Valeera has no idea how close she was to going mad in those first muddled minutes. “But you can't think I'll just fall back into whatever we had."

“What do you want me to say?” Valeera’s arms withdraw further to cross across her chest, defensive. “We both know you wouldn’t have followed me.”

“I might have.”

“What?” she asks, voice small enough to cut through her. It’s fragile in a way Valeera’s never been, cracked and wounded. Liadrin longs to comfort her like she always has, but that would just start the whole thing all over again and she _can’t_.

“I’m not blind.” She sighs. “You were always restless, I just hoped you’d _talk_ to me before you moved on. Give me the chance to decide, if you wanted that. It’s clear you didn’t, so whatever you’re trying to do...whatever this is. Don’t.”

Valeera’s face twists with stark regret before her chapped lips pull into a coarse facsimile of her usual smirk. “Fine. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

 _I never stopped wanting you_. That truth doesn’t stop her from letting Valeera retreat. Doesn’t mean she can’t see how the younger woman walks off as if she’s been struck.

 _It doesn’t mean anything_ , she reminds herself miserably. _She’d just leave again_.

Hope sometimes hurts too much.

|||||

 _December 12_ _th_

Water, floor, ice around a cardboard box. Water, floor, spreading over the rugs in the corner. Water, floor-

“Hey, Proudmoore.” It's not any of her friends, so why bother. There are more important things to see to. “...Proudmoore?”

The waver of concern snaps Jaina out of her routine. She takes in Valeera crouching in front of her, messily agitated. “What do you need?” 

“’Need’?” The elf’s smirk wavers, like it doesn’t know where to land. “Just wanted to say you should uh. Maybe put that away for a bit?

“Put...what?” The words just aren’t tracking, though it might have something to do with how little she’s been sleeping. 

Not to mention, parts of her hair _have_ gone pale. She can’t see much color in the blue-tinged gloom, but it’s noticeable nonetheless. Too much to excuse away with stress, but it's the last thing she's worried about.

“Your glowing magic rock.” Valeera averts her eyes from that rock, as if embarrassed to look at it. “Everyone here has something they’re hanging in there for, right? Your something can’t be a _rock_ – it won’t work.”

“ _You’re_ saying that?” That might not be fair, but she can’t handle anyone delving into her coping mechanisms. Not now, maybe not ever.

Valeera rolls her shoulders, deliberately breezy. “It’s no secret you discovered elf catnip, like that even matters. What I’m trying to say is, Windrunner wouldn’t like it if you checked out.”

The words hit under her poorly constructed armor. It takes gripping the stone so strongly her knuckles crack to regain her composure. “Why would you care what Sylvanas wanted?” Jaina might not know Valeera _well_ , but it’s apparent she didn’t mean Vereesa.

“Maybe I feel like I owe her.” Valeera tucks her hands into her pockets. “Pretty sure if Liadrin didn’t have a designated driver I’d be...worse off.”

Unbidden, the memories spill over again. Locking frantic eyes with Sylvanas as the elf pulled her down the street, never releasing her hand. The desperate cries, and the way every single one shrunk the elf’s shoulders further until she couldn't disguise her angry trembling any more. 

When she surfaces again, Valeera’s still hovering in front of her. Her hidden anger rises, unbidden. “So you think that means _you_ need to babysit me?”

“Sarcasm’s not a good look on you.” Immediately, the elf brings up a hand. “I didn’t – I just mean, she'd want someone looking out for you. Also, you’re pretty alright. So maybe I don’t want to see you burn out.”

It’s genuine enough for Jaina to curb her instinct to lash out. They might only have crossed paths when Sylvanas and Liadrin met outside of work, not all that frequently. In the time since, though, the elf has been...if not a _welcome_ presence, better than most.

It’s hard not to brush her off, but she has a point. Still... “I can’t just _forget_ about her.”

“Not asking you to. Just don’t fade away, Proudmoore. It’d be a real shame.”

She wants to rail against the elf, question how Valeera can _dare_ to bring her up, but she does remember Sylvanas gently chastising her for working overtime at the lab. Bringing her coffee and, later, dinner when it was obvious Jaina wouldn’t make it back to town. 

Because of those memories, she lets it go with: “Thank you.” 

Valeera nods and leaves quickly, clearly reaching her emotional quota. Still, it means something. That she’d try. Jaina looks at the stone, and – lets the hand holding it fall to the floor. She can take a break. Just for a bit.

-

Near the rocking horse, Genn is making another pointless attempt to convince Vereesa to give up her gun. It’s no surprise she doesn’t want to – now that Nathanos has Liadrin’s, it isn’t as if any officer that wants one doesn’t have it at the ready. And, well...everyone on the force knows where Sylvanas’ “missing” gun went years ago.

Liadrin won’t take a memento, not from someone who knows how to use it. At this point, it’s less an issue of a civilian having a firearm and more because Vereesa’s a Windrunner. As if either of those things are relevant now. 

 _Damn it all_ , there are too many people to corral. Jaina’s so withdrawn it’s affecting Kinndy, so Pained frets over them both. Vereesa stays glued to Jaina’s side or hangs back to talk softly with Anya, probably about Sylvanas from the tears she tries to hide afterwards. Nathanos might be some help if he weren’t so busy reacting to Genn, who either can’t see or doesn’t care how much he’s antagonizing the rest of them.

And then there’s Valeera, moving from person to person, not letting the small space confine her.

It’s almost too much. Since that disastrous first night she’s tried to stay calm, set an example – as much as that hardly seems to have an effect anymore. If she had reacted before Sylvanas, maybe their dwindling group would be better off. Jaina’s eyes might still be bright, and Vereesa would have something to distract her from the terrible sorrow of losing Rhonin and her sister within days of each other. 

She sinks pitifully to her spot on the floor, holding her distress back with fingers digging into her ribs.

Pained sidles up before she can stew for long.  “Seems like you could use that drink I promised.”

Liadrin looks around, searching for an excuse not to lower her guard. But Nathanos is on watch, Valeera’s pressed as close to Jaina as she can get without actually touching so she can bask in the damnably beguiling light of that stone, and the rest of the room seems quiet. 

“I could,” she allows. “But I doubt the previous occupant had a wine cellar.”

“I’ll do you one better.” Pained produces a bottle from under her coat. Something with a fancy, glimmering label. “I’m sure Gallywix won’t miss it.”

Deadpan as it is, part of her can’t help but bristle at the glib words. Not _too_ large a part, though, considering. “Just the one then, since you’re offering. What should we toast to?”

Pained twists the cap off the dusky bottle and lifts one shoulder. “That crazy gamble you took actually paying off? Your angry shadow trading me her Lunchables for more chocolate? One more day?”

Liadrin shakes herself subtly, not wanting to dwell on her frantic search for anything sharp enough to be used in self-defense or...or the other thing. 

“She’s not my...” Pained looks pointedly away, and she follows quickly enough to see Valeera’s hair whip around. She quashes the naive hope that tries to rise. “One more day sounds fine.”

The night elf pulls out her can with a flourish, popping the tab and pouring a healthy amount into the half-depleted bottle. She doesn’t think much of it until the tang of carbonation and sugar reaches her nose.

“Are you...mixing top shelf whiskey with soda?”

“I did promise you something less painful than warm and cheap.” Pained smiles, and Liadrin echoes it. 

The first sip burns, but she swallows around it until it sits pleasantly in her stomach. It certainly isn’t _warm_ going down.

“I needed this,” she admits. Gods, did she need this.

“For what it’s worth, we’d be a lot worse off if you weren’t wrangling your fellows.” Pained takes the bottle back and gulps down a healthy swig. “All that tension would have blown over days ago, probably.”

Her mediation being all that stands between Nathanos and Greymane is still an unsettling thought. As bad as not being able to prevent someone else’s death. Again.

“I do try,” she deflects. “Genn has his reasons, but this isn’t the time to accomodate them.”

Pained passes the bottle back, chagrined. “Sorry, wasn’t looking to make it worse. How about...mm, what are you looking forward to when this is over?”

Looking forward to...? There were things before, she knows. Vague wishes, like a promotion or – or living somewhere else, somewhere sunny, with–

“I don’t know.” She takes another sip at the reminder, handing the drink off again.

Pained grips the bottle by the neck, shaking it admonishingly. “Someone like you? Must be something.”

Something in those words has her ears twitching towards flat; she looks over more closely.

“Pained, you know I’m...” _Taken_ doesn’t apply anymore, for all that it feels like it should. Tied up, more like, because it will surely take longer than a few weeks to disentangle herself from Valeera. “Not looking for a relationship,” she settles on. 

It’s the least complicated truth. Half-truth. What she wants and what she can have are very different.

Pained’s eyes dip, but rise again quickly enough. “What about a friend? You’ve got a good head on you, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you let loose.”

She fights down a cringe at the fuzzy memories from the diner. And, more deeply... 

Lor’themar, probably killed the first night with since his business lies on the south side. Modera at the inn who, if Kinndy’s reaction to questions is any indication, never made it out the door. Sylvanas, barreling towards certain death with a fixed smile around the metal between her lips. And so many others.

“Yes, I think... I think a friend would be welcome.”

The night elf grins and offers her the bottle again, but she waves it off. Much as she appreciates the small relief, she still remembers that first night too well. She won’t be that useless again.

“What has you bothered now?” Pained slouches against the wall, watching Genn glare into the distance with a wary frown. “Aside from the obvious.”

“I think,” she says, frowning herself at the unpleasantness to come, “I should speak to Genn.”

“You sure you won’t be needing any more of this then?” She waves the bottle again.

Oh it’s tempting, but for this of all conversations she needs a clear head. “I’ll manage, thanks. Maybe after.”

She straightens up, lips twitching at Pained’s sympathetic salute, and crosses the room to kneel by their police chief. 

His eyes have been weighed down by deep circles for years now, and this long night hasn’t improved them. He acknowledges her with a lethargic nod, all the permission she needs to try and carefully say what needs saying.

“Vereesa’s devastated, you know.”

He returns her even look with a suspicious one. “What of it?”

“Only that you might stop insinuating Sylvanas was so terrible.” _Because she wasn’t_ , she swallows back. Gods, but thinking of her in the past tense is a hard blow. “For her family’s sake.”

“She _let my son die_ ,” Genn growls.

“Genn...” She bites the inside of her cheek. “I read the report. Multiple times. You know it’s not likely.” 

He stares her down, unblinking. “She was always too damn proud. Do you think she would have owned up if she knew Marris would back her? That _you_ would?” 

“I never advised Maiev one way or the other.” She meets his eyes, sees a man haunted by a narrative he can’t accept for truth. The way they all are now, she supposes. “But if you’re asking, I believe she wasn’t lying. What good does it do to antagonize the ones closest to her after her – after her death?”

“Because to hear them speak well of _her_...” he spits, voice rough with pain. “You can’t understand how much it burns.”

 _Have you seen the way Vereesa flinches when you speak_ , she very nearly says. Her own advice stops her: what good would it do. It doesn’t stop the thought of those wounded blue eyes from lingering, though.

“Someone needs to lead. It has to be you” – _because you won’t let anyone else do it and we can’t fight_ – “so act like it. Come on, Genn, we’ll make it to sunup if we don’t fall apart.”

He fixes her with a look as bone-tired as she is, if not more. “I’ll try. Vereesa isn’t like her sister.”

No, but Sylvanas came back for Vereesa and her both. She bites her tongue to keep it in.

“You weren’t wrong about the food,” she says instead. “We’ll need more than I could find, and soon. I just don’t think we should rush. This isn’t a mob, it’s a handful of scared people.”

“We both know if we don’t come back they’re all going to die,” he sighs, echoing her greatest fear. “But what else is there? We need to eat.”

 _What else is there_ indeed. It strikes her just how similarly she and Genn are starting to act, albeit in different ways.

“I know.” And she does. She just doesn’t know how much longer she can keep Nathanos from attempting to pummel him into the floorboards.

“Marris wants to go chasing after his dead flame,” he continues, relentless, “and the civilians are barely hanging on. We’re the only ones holding this together, so I need you with me on this.”

She doesn’t balk, as strong as the urge is. It’s a feeling she can’t explain, but her instincts are rarely wrong and they insist Genn isn’t going to get them out of this. But she came here to mediate. If that means standing by him, well. He's _also_ barely holding on. There isn’t much of a choice. 

“I’m with you.” 

|||||

 _December 13_ _th_

Of _course_ the moment things start to settle down, there would be another storm. Not that it isn’t badly needed, but like everything else these days a fight comes with it. Valeera would roll her eyes, but she sort of respects one of the participants and isn’t _that_ a welcome change.

Because this time, Vereesa’s doing everything short of yelling to convince Greymane she should go – and more importantly, she’s trying to convince Liadrin. The old man can grandstand until his face turns blue, but Liadrin’s the one everyone’s watching now.

She probably doesn’t even know, can’t see how respected she is. The self-sacrificial idiot.

“Let me go,” Vereesa insists again, eyes hard. Then, catching the look Greymane sends Liadrin, “I can do it. I heard you talking, I know you’re afraid of leaving us alone. If I don’t come back it’s not much of a loss, right?”

Jaina grips her arm, more animated than she’s been in days. “Don’t talk like that! You mean so much to me, to all of us – don’t just go out there to die.”

Lips trembling, the elf brushes her off. “I’m just being pragmatic. Like...like she would have been.”

“She’d want you to live,” Jaina argues, paler than usual.

“She’d _want_ people to be smart about this,” Vereesa hisses. She’s never resembled her sister so strongly. “If I don’t come back, you’ll still have options.”

Greymane frowns, unexpectedly reluctant. “Are you sure, Windrunner?”

Valeera doesn’t miss the way she flinches. Must not have answered to her family name in a while.

“I am.” She stands ramrod straight, daring anyone to deny her. It’s Liadrin she stares down, though, and Liadrin who relents first.

“You have experience with them,” she acknowledges. “I trust that. Which of us do you want with you?”

Greymane eyes Liadrin like she’s gone mad, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Vereesa. 

Anya breaks the silence, weirdly enough. “I’ll come along, if no one minds. Sylvanas would haunt me if I let you go alone.” Vereesa and Jaina both wince at _haunt_ , but she carries on unaffected. “I’m a good tracker, I can keep us out of sight. And I don’t need a gun – I’m best up close.”

Not for the first time, Valeera wonders if she shouldn’t have tried to be friends with Sylvanas. _Her_ friends are really turning out to be her kind of people.

Vereesa turns her wide eyes on Anya, perplexed. “Why would you volunteer?”

“I watched you grow up,” she says, not shrinking from the question one bit. “Make sense to you?”

It must, because Vereesa nods without getting distraught again. Across from them, Liadrin is doing everything short of waving her arms to make eye contact – eyes she keeps casting at Greymane. Of course she would let him keep up the illusion, because she’s incapable of _not_ trying so hard.

Valeera speaks up before she can stop herself. “Sound like a plan, chief?” She tries very, very hard to sound sincere. When no one glares, she counts it as a success.

“It’s acceptable,” Greymane says. “Remember what’s at stake, and be safe.”

“Nowhere’s safe,” Vereesa snaps, then buckles inwards like the words hurt to say. “But we’ll try.”

Valeera’s as hungry as the rest of them, but she wants to argue anyway. Out of everyone who’s gone out there, Liadrin is the one who’s come back the most. She wouldn’t change that for anything, but she can’t help but think this won’t end well. How many more chances can they possibly have? 

-

She let them go without a fight anyway, because they need to eat and she can read the room. So, of course, it only takes a few hours for everything to go to pieces again.

Greymane's making a show of vigilance, leaving Liadrin curled up in a way even she wouldn't dare interrupt. Proudmoore's put the rock down for once, dozing fitfully with the other elves around her. All in all, it's weirdly quiet. 

Sparkshine’s downstairs, in the bathroom they’re lucky enough to be able to use thanks to Proudmoore. The rest of them shift restlessly, waiting for her return. It’s not quite late enough for anyone to be on watch, so they have to think instead of try to sleep. 

Really makes her wish she could think of anything but how badly she’d handled...everything.

 _I might have_ , Liadrin told her. Might as well be _I would have_. Before Valeera went and fucked it up. Now the other woman can’t even look at her. 

A crash interrupts her self-pity, the unmistakable sound of the front door caving in. The terrified occupants of the attic look at each other, frozen, while the thing that broke through ransacks the first floor. 

Proudmoore fidgets more than usual, but Valeera’s so stuck in her own panic it takes her longer to remember. Damn it, _damn it_ , little Sparkshine’s down there which means it’s going to find her and-

She can hear it sniffing around down below, knocking around the first floor hallway without care. Pained and Proudmoore share a look, horror writ wide on their faces. An echo of that horror hits Valeera, because they’re about to have to hear one more of them die. 

If the thing down there feels like emitting one of those piercing cries, they’re _all_ screwed. It’ll draw the rest from wherever they’re holed up and this stupid dusty attic will become their tomb. 

Pained’s fingers twitch in her lap; Proudmoore casts a helpless glance at the door. A heavy _thud_ comes from downstairs, then another. 

 _It’s breaking the bathroom door down_ , she thinks, detached from the racket like she’s suspended in this one awful moment. _And we’ll have to listen to all of it_.

“Leave it,” Genn grates out, low. 

Her eyes shoot to Pained, reaching a hand out to the entrance. And Proudmoore, lurching forward before Vereesa catches her around the waist with both arms and wrestles her to a silent stop. The elf mouths something too quietly to hear, but Valeera’s more concerned with Pained because she’s _also_ friends with Sparkshine and if she-

Too late. The night elf moves first, taking her knife and shimmying down the ladder almost soundlessly. Valeera’s focus shifts to Liadrin, loosely holding her axe and staring down the open door with the line of her jaw working strenuously. 

 _Don’t_ , she prays. _Gods or whoever, I don’t care, just don’t_.

Because in this nightmare no one gets what they want, Liadrin does. She’s careful, more quiet than Pained, but gone all the same before Valeera can clutch the other woman to her. 

It takes a beat for her to realize how strongly her body’s trembling. Cold tendrils spread through her chest, freezing her lungs as a tingling sets in at her fingertips. The sounds trickling up from the first floor only make it worse – crashes, a cry interrupted by another collision, a jumble of discordant footsteps. 

Liadrin’s down there. Liadrin went down there with just an _axe_. Nathanos isn’t moving, fingers tight around his own weapon. Greymane _does_ move, reaching out carefully to draw the door back up. Dammit, they have an axe and a fire poker between them so why won’t they _do_ something? 

Logically, she knows it’s smart to conceal themselves while the others serve as a distraction. Mercenary, maybe, but Valeera’s well aware a little mercenary is what it takes sometimes. But. _Liadrin_ is down there and she can’t handle it, can’t handle listening to her die too. Something inside her might snap if that happens.

She’s barely begun curling her fingers around her knives when the rapid battering stops, followed closely by a sound like meat slapping against a cutting board. That’s all it takes for her to scramble past the frozen crowd, batting Greymane’s arm away to slip through the narrowing exit.

Unlike the others, she doesn't try to be silent at all. There’s no _time_. The creak of the ladder and her own clumsy movements are far from the forefront of her mind as she hits the ground running, down the stairs and towards the sickening  _schlep_ around the corner. 

There’s...a body. That’s the first thing she sees. Halfway down the hall, spread in a dark puddle. It takes everything she has to look, but it’s – not Liadrin. When she focuses through the fear, she sees Pained lying broken on the floor. Even from a distance her neck sits at a wrong angle, and one of her arms is...is barely hanging on. 

She gags, stumbling to a halt. But there’s still a commotion nearby, sounds of a struggle, so she keeps moving. One step, three. Far enough to see one of those _things_ rush Liadrin out of the living room, into the banister and _through_ it. 

A knife juts from its shoulder, embedded to the hilt. It might as well be a sewing needle for how much it slows the monster down but hell, at least Pained left her mark.

Liadrin somehow stays on her feet, panting and surrounded by splinters. It – _he_ – follows, pressing her into the wall with hands soaked in blood and _fuck whose is that don’t be hers don’t be hers_. 

Liadrin swings her axe into the broad shoulder minus the knife, biting deep enough to kill a normal person. It barely stumbles before slamming her back into the fracturing wood, wrenching a strangled cry from her.

She braces against the wall, trying to push its uninjured arm back with her free hand. Her eyes shine fiercely through the hair working free of her bun, plaster dust coating her head and shoulders. And _still_ Valeera stands frozen, legs shaking at the end of the hall. 

Either it hasn’t noticed her, or it couldn’t care less. She has to move, do _something_ ; whole seconds have passed but she can’t stop looking at the rows of teeth like a shark’s, old blood and new smeared over a mouth gaping like a pit.

That fetid mouth bears down on Liadrin, hungry smile widening at her wince. It’s closing so slowly – _toying_ with her. Her frame heaves with exertion, arm pushed back steadily by the creature’s implacable strength. Fuck, he _dwarfs_ her.

Valeera looks down at her own shaking hands on the knives. She thinks of the couple in the car, how they died screaming. How she couldn’t see it from where she was ducked down, and how she can’t imagine having to see _this_.

She moves closer silently, heart hammering. In front of her, the not-elf yanks Liadrin forward by her own arm and cracks her against the wall again. The sound of her head bouncing off the fractured wood roars too loud in Valeera’s ears. 

Her vision blurs red, and all at once she’s standing behind the creature. Another blur and she’s cutting at the side of its neck not impacted by the axe, one knife after the other, more whacking haphazardly than sawing. 

It could turn to attack her in this moment and she wouldn’t care, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but getting it away from Liadrin because that last blow did something, she can tell by the way the other woman’s starting to list to the side.

“Get _off of her!_ ” She doesn’t recognize her own voice, high-pitched and wild. “Don’t you dare don’t you _dare_ _don’t you dare_ –” 

Its arms fling out to either side like an awful reflex while her knives slash into shadowy flesh again and again. It tries to swing around but Liadrin never surrenders her grip on the axe in its shoulder, and it can’t quite rip its way out. 

She doesn’t know how long she slices into it, seconds or sickening minutes, rage and fear and denial all bubbling up so strongly she can hardly breathe. Finally it goes limp, and it takes her several feverish seconds to realize she’s hacking at a corpse.

Valeera risks stopping, fighting for air and chokingly afraid of the result. When she finally gathers herself enough to look she sees a head nearly severed from bloodied shoulders. Paranoia helps complete the job, to sever what little keeps the head holding on. She finishes it with fumbling movements, never looking away from a single crack in the wall behind her. 

The body falls to the floor when she’s done, taking the axe with it as Liadrin slides down the wall. She watches it, but the remains don’t so much as twitch. The Windrunners were right about heads after all. 

Valeera heaves, hands falling to her knees but still clutching tight to her knives. It’s another beat before she can bring herself to kneel by Liadrin where she lies prone on the floor. 

She doesn’t want to know. If Liadrin’s beyond help she just...doesn’t want to know, but she _has_ to. “Did it hurt you? Are there more of them? Talk to me, hey, babe?” 

It’s maybe the last thing she means to let slip, but the immediate comfort of Liadrin’s eyelids fluttering cancels out the self-flagellation.

“What...” Thank fuck she’s alive, probably concussed but _alive_. “Sunshine...?”

Huh. Pet names. Never thought she’d hear that one again, but chalk it up to the head injury, sure. She still misses it, wishes she hadn’t screwed up so badly Liadrin’s never going to deliberately say it again.  

Regret doesn’t slow her from helping Liadrin up into a sitting position, making soft, encouraging noises at the way the other woman tries to help even through her visible discomfort.

“Where does it hurt?” Her hands run frantically over Liadrin’s dark coat, terrified to find the source of the gore coating the monster’s nails. She brushes over shards of the banister in her forearms, along her sides, but no sign of anything worse. 

“I never...asked her what she was looking forward to,” Liadrin mumbles absently, head lolling to the left. Worry shifts to hysteria she can barely keep a handle on, because that doesn’t make _sense_  and she sounds _weak_. Not like herself at all.

“Hey, look at me.” Valeera shakes the older woman as much as she dares without knowing the source of her injury. “ _Look at me_.”

Liadrin blinks, eyes lighting with a touch more awareness. “Valeera?”

“The one and only.” Damn if she couldn’t sob she’s so relieved, but she keep her hands gentle to support the other woman. 

Liadrin struggles to right herself against the wall, still breathing heavily as Valeera repeats her questions.  “m’alright,” she manages through clenched teeth. “Bruised. There was only one, but I wasn’t fast enough and Pained, she went after him but I...”

Valeera swallows. She saw Pained, sure enough. “And Sparkshine?”

“It tried to break through the door.” She closes her eyes, thinking. "I saw Pained attack it, and then...”

She glances down the hall, to a door that’s still mostly intact. Valeera makes herself overlook the body on the way this time, focusing on the path alone. Clear.

“Okay, I’ll go get her. Don’t move, yeah?”

The noise Liadrin makes at the suggestion is pretty well deserved. Valeera steps carefully towards the bathroom, around the blood. If she looks down she might finish the job of throwing up, so she keeps her field of vision trained on the door barely held in place by battered hinges.

“Hey, Sparkshine?” She finds the grit to move closer, ears pinned back. Once she picks up the sounds coming from the bathroom she doesn’t know if she’s ever been so happy to hear soft crying. “...Kinndy?”

“It was right here and I was, I didn’t...” The gnome sniffles, hiccuping through her words. “How did, what, what happened?”

For all the emotions Valeera’s become intimately acquainted with these past weeks – fear, loss, regret – she doesn’t know that she’s ever felt so _heavy_. Again, she forces her eyes away from the suggestion of the person lying in the hall.

“It’s uh. It’s safe out here now, kiddo. Let’s open this door, and then just keep your eyes closed, okay? Liadrin and I are gonna get you back upstairs.”

To her credit, Kinndy doesn’t ask why her eyes need to be closed. Poor girl. Shit, she’s just an undergrad. Maybe Valeera never got through college, but she knows the ins and outs of campus life and those students always seemed so young.

It takes a few tries to open the door with the way it’s been warped by the force slamming against it, but they manage eventually. The whole time she can’t help looking back, like Liadrin might disappear if she blinks for too long.

When they do get the thing open she takes Kinndy’s small hand more gently than she thought herself capable of. Following her advice, the gnome keeps her eyes pressed shut and lets Valeera guide her down the hall. 

By the time they get back Liadrin is, incredibly, standing. She’s even reclaimed her axe, knuckles white around the handle as she jerks her head at the stairs. 

 _Us first, huh_? Not that Valeera’s about to complain. Or comply. She turns Kinndy to face the steps, letting go of her hand. 

“Okay, up you go. We’re right behind you.”

The gnome scrambles up, leaving them alone together. Soon enough, she hears Jaina’s faint but relieved exclamation followed by more alarmed murmurs. 

It’s a good thing, Kinndy making it back, but right now everyone up top is much less important than the woman in front of her. Liadrin’s angling sideways, pale and disheveled, and the most beautiful damn sight she’s ever seen.

“You had me so worried, you stupid martyr.” She doesn’t even try to disguise the waver in her voice. Doesn’t know if she could. 

“ _Martyr_ ,” Liadrin scoffs. She looks at the body crumpled down the hall and closes her eyes again. “I couldn’t even protect...” 

For a second, her solid shoulders seem smaller. Valeera’s struck once more with the idea that Liadrin could just disappear, go up in smoke if she turns away for even a second. 

“Look, you saved that girl. And you’re still alive, and I...” She takes in the way the other woman trembles, cheeks flushed with exertion in stark contrast to the pallor of the rest of her face, eyes wide and still a bit distant. All of her _alive_.

“Can I...” she starts, stumbling over just how badly she needs what she’s afraid to ask. “Can I hold you? Just for a bit?” 

Liadrin doesn’t answer. She just watches her, holding back and instantly – alarmingly – _anxious_. A whole different kind of frightened than when she fended off that monster.

“It’s just,” Valeera tries, chest constricting with the certainty Liadrin won’t let her, “I thought you were gonna fucking _die_ and you didn’t and I, I know I fucked it up but... _please_.”

The older woman stiffens, ready to deny her. She can read the _no_ in the way those lips part...but it never comes. Liadrin sighs instead, shoulders dropping like a weight slammed onto them.

She’s only half aware of Liadrin leaning her axe against the wall and stepping forward, and _very_ aware of the careful way those familiar arms wrap around her. It takes everything she has not to hug back just as tightly and aggravate what must be agonizing bruises.

“You’re alright,” Liadrin soothes. Valeera shakes her head weakly, unable to articulate how much that isn’t the problem. “You’re okay, Valeera, and so am I.”

But Liadrin _isn’t_. She’s cut up, and visibly affected by that last hit she took, and she almost _died_ – and Valeera’s horrified to find herself on the verge of tears. But maybe, if she buries them in Liadrin’s coat, no one has to know. 

“You saved me,” Liadrin continues, not quite level, one hand unsteady at the back of her neck. “Thank you. It’s alright now.”

 _Nothing_ is alright, except this. Except the way Liadrin’s holding her like she isn’t repulsed by her selfishness, like maybe there’s still something in her worth valuing.

Everything else is for later. Going back to dancing around each other; seeing Jaina wilt again when Pained doesn't resurface; moving the bodies... Fuck, later. 

-

It’s everything and nothing like she imagined, hurrying to the store. She expected the fear, the mad arrhythmic jolts of her pulse. She just never thought she’d be this uncontrollably _distracted_.

Even running from shelter to shelter, more on edge than she thought she could be, Vereesa’s battered by snippets of memory. Rhonin, rumbling with laughter while spinning her until her feet swung off the ground. Sylvanas, bright and happy among her friends. Rhonin again, flicking water at her with a wide smile, shaking off the dish towel she'd thrown.

She's distracted, yes, and afraid. When that  threatens to overwhelm her, she clings to the reminder that this is what _she_ would have done. Except without Anya, because Sylvanas never let anyone help her. For all the good that did her. She can almost imagine her sister watching her, shaking her head at the slight.

“She wouldn’t have blamed you, you know.” Anya elbows her, pulling her out of her head like she used to do so many years ago – ruffling her hair in a way just shy of condescending, indulging her almost like it wasn’t just to keep Sylvanas from glaring.

She shrugs it off, violently. “What?”

“Sylvanas. She didn’t run out there because of anything you said.”

It hurts more than the slap she wants, because Anya’s wrong. “Didn’t she? I knew how she’d take it and I still...said those things.”

They talk as they walk around one house, skirting down the west road. “I won’t say she wasn’t hurt, but she did it for _everyone_.” Anya smiles, sour. “She never picked the easy way, did she.”

Vereesa laughs shakily. “She really didn’t.”

The sting never abates, because she _did_ know. She’d watched Sylvanas struggle with Alleria’s memory until her pride became more affectation than reality. Watched her pretend to be vainer than vain to cover up the way she always tried to prove herself. 

Vereesa still feels Rhonin’s loss bitterly, but even if her sister _had_ brought up murderers, what would she have done? Gone to the police station, which by all accounts was among the first places lost, or barricaded herself in a room until Sylvanas came? 

They might still have been discovered there. Rhonin could still have died, or her instead. There are so _many_ what ifs. What aches the most is that she didn’t need to blame her sister for Rhonin. But she did, and now Sylvanas is dead and the only thing Vereesa has left of hers is her gun.

She shakes the recriminations out of her head as she and Anya head down the road. They’re close to the old hideout – the realization hits her with a bitter shock. It’s hardly...hardly two blocks. With a sudden, crushing hope, she prays they don’t find Sylvanas’ body. 

Anya keeps glancing at her as they come closer to that house, like she’s expecting a meltdown or – or something. They’ve been moving hesitantly to every prospective shelter for the last half hour, and the other elf hasn’t let up once. Like she expects Vereesa to burst into tears in the middle of the street.

Well, she won’t. She’s done her crying. The grief over Rhonin might have sunk into her chest like a jagged stone, and losing Sylvanas still fills her with a contrasting sense of weightless disbelief, but she can be strong now. She has to be, or she’ll lose what she has left. 

Jaina’s still here. And Alleria too, an ocean away and not even aware their family’s been torn apart. She wants to avoid telling her if she makes it through this, and...if their positions were reversed, Sylvanas would also shove it down until she had time to deal with it.

She thinks of the way her sister knelt by the blood in her kitchen, and wonders. But not for long, because she won’t make it through this if she gets lost inside herself again. She’ll survive, and find Alleria, and then maybe she’ll be able to make some sense of this awful month.

As she and Anya edge forward, she still can’t shake the feeling of being watched. She scans the street, the surrounding houses, but nothing stands out. Just snow, and blood, and the empty husks of cars abandoned in the street.

And, wait – someone heading their way, lurching down the street at a steady pace. Anya holds up a warning hand to press them around the side of a house. The figure doesn’t give any indication of noticing, continuing to plod down the road. 

Vereesa locks eyes with Anya before looking to the rooftops, questioning. A search doesn’t reveal anyone skulking above, and now that the figure’s closer she can tell it’s dressed for the weather, bulky coat, gloves, and all. None of the monsters have bothered to do that. They don’t seem to need to. 

The certainty that they’re being observed builds, making her grip the gun where it rests at her hip. Before she can make any further guesses, the form passes in front of their hiding place and Anya starts, inhaling so sharply it sounds wounded. 

“Is that...?”

She takes a step forward, out of their shelter. Vereesa nearly pulls her back, but the way the body’s dressed still gives her pause. When Anya keeps walking, though, she feels it again – the thing that made her beg her sister off investigating whatever was under her house. And she knows now, doesn’t she. It _could_ have been some small mammal, but of course it wasn’t.

“Wait, An-”

The moment Anya comes fully out from around the house the figure jerks to a halt. There’s barely a heartbeat before the person – woman, she sees now – surges forward, and in that moment she has time for a fevered _that can’t be she_ can’t _be she’s dead_ before Alina – and gods how _can_ that be Alina – hurtles into Anya and knocks her into the road.

Vereesa lifts her gun an instant before blood splatters onto her face. Before she can fire, do anything but stand there in shock, something seizes her ankle and _wrenches_ her down. 

She hits the ground with such force her skull might have cracked if her arms hadn’t cradled her head in time. The shock from striking the packed snow reverberates through her wrist, but she doesn’t drop her gun — there’s that much. 

The next moment something's hauling her under the porch of the house she’d just been hiding next to, her field of vision restricted to the grisly rectangular view of Alina continuing to rip into Anya’s twitching body as her hands paw desperately at the compact snow. 

A hand over her mouth cuts off her scream as she’s dragged further into the dark, and then a voice she _knows_ whispers:

“ _Ssshhh_... Stay very still.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all knew she wasn't dead.


End file.
